LIBRARY 


AN 

INTRODUCTION 

TO 

PSYCHOLOGY 


BASED  ON  THE   AUTHOR'S   HANDBOOK 
OF  PSYCHOLOGY 


BY 

J.  CLARK  MURRAY,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.C. 


•  :      -• 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1905 


Copyright,  1904, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  resei'ved 
Published  October,  1904 


PS       ^ 
UBKARY 


THE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,      U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

THOUGH  my  Handbook  of  Psychology  has  passed 
through  several  editions,  it  has  not  undergone 
any  important  alteration  since  the  second.  It  seemed, 
therefore,  but  due  to  those  who  find  it  serviceable,  that 
it  should  be  subjected  to  a  fresh  revision.  But  in  the 
revision  many  parts  came  to  be  so  completely  rewritten, 
that  it  would  have  been  misleading  to  describe  the  new 
work  as  simply  another  edition  of  the  old.  It  has 
therefore  been  judged  preferable  to  issue  the  work 
under  a  new  title.  The  original  Handbook^  as  its  pre- 
face declared,  was  "designed  to  introduce  students  to 
the  science  of  psychology  " ;  and  as  this  design  has  been 
maintained  in  the  present  work,  the  new  title  is  even 
more  appropriate  than  the  old. 

J.  CLARK   MURRAY. 
September  1,  1904. 


873338 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTORY   CHAPTER. 

Page 

§  1.  Definition  of  Psychology 1 

§  2.  Method  of  Psychology,  Subjective  and  Objective 4 

BOOK    I. 
GENERAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 

Part  I.    Elejibnts  of  Mind 19 

Chapter  I.    General  Nature  of  Sensation 19 

§  1.  The  Sensible  Organism 20 

§  2.  Agencies  which  excite  Sensibility 23 

§  3.  Classification  of  Sensations 33 

Chapter  IL     The  Special  Senses 37 

§  1.  Taste 37 

§  2.  Smell 41 

§  3.  Touch 46 

§  4.  Hearing 53 

§  5.  Sight 61 

Chapter  III.     The  General  Senses 69 

§  1.  General  Sensations  connected  with  a  Single  Organ      .  71 

§  2.  General  Sensations  not  limited  to  Particular  Organs    .  78 

Part  II.    The  Mental  Processes 83 

Chapter  I.     Association  or  Suggestion 83 

§  1.  Primary  Laws  of  Suggestion,  the  Laws  of  Similarity 

and  Contiguity,  illustrated  in  Suggestion  by — .     .  84 

I.  Local  Association 86 

II.  Resemblance 91 

III.  Contrast 94 

IV.  Relativity 96 


vi  CONTENTS 

Page 

§  2.  Secondary  Laws  of  Suggestion 97 

I.  Law  of  Siiggestiveness 99 

IL  Law  of  Suggestibility 103 

IIL  Law  of  Mutual  Suggestiveness  and  Suggestibility 

or  of  Uniform  Association 114 

Chapter  11.     Comparison 126 


BOOK   II. 

SPECIAL   PSYCHOLOGY. 

Preliminary  Explanations 131 

Part  I.    Cognitions:  Evolution  of  their  Principal  Forms  .  137 

Chapter  I.     Perceptions.      The    General  Process  of  their  For- 
mation        139 

§  1.  Perceptions  of  Taste 145 

§  2.  Perceptions  of  Smell    .     .     .     .     • 152 

§  3.  Perceptions  of  Touch 158 

(A)  Perception  of  Different  Degrees  of  Pressure      .     .  159 

(B)  Perception  of  Distinct  Points 163 

Extension  of  Touch  by  the  Use  of  Instruments   .     .     .  167 

§  4.  Perceptions  of  Hearing 171 

(A)  Non-musical  Perceptions 172 

I.  Of  Geometrical  Properties 172 

IL  Of  Physical  Properties 175 

(B)  Musical  Perceptions 176 

I.  Articulate  Speech 176 

II.  Music 180 

§  5.  Perceptions  of  Sight.     Evidence  to  show  that  these  are 

acquired 185 

I.  Perception  of  Extension  in  Depth  or  Distance 

from  the  Eye 193 

(A)  Binocular  Vision 193 

(B)  Perception  independent  on  Binocular  Vision  .  196 
II.  Perception  of  Plane  Extension 202 

(A)  Perception  of  Magnitude 202 

(B)  Perception  of  Position,  and  of  Change  of  Po- 

sition        205 

Concluding  Observations 210 

§  6.  Muscular  Perceptions 214 


CONTENTS  vii 

Pagk 

Chapter  II.     Generalisation 217 

§  1.  Abstractiou 217 

I.  Its  Identity  with  Attention 217 

XL  Not  purely  intellectual,  but  partly  due  to —     .     .  219 

1.  Emotion,  Involuntary  Attention,  or  to  .     .     .  220 

2.  Volition,  Voluntary  Attention 223 

III.  Identity,   intellectually,   with  Discrimination   or 

Analysis 225 

IV.  Though   artificial   in   one  sense,  yet  natural   in 

another 227 

§  2.  Generalisation  Proper   • 229 

§  3.  Denomination 237 

Chapter  III.     Reasoning 251 

§  1.  Conception 253 

§  2.  Judgment 255 

§  3,  Reasoning 260 

Chapter  IV.     Idealisation 271 

§  1.  The  Speculative  Ideal 272 

§  2.  The  ^Esthetic  Ideal 273 

§  3.  The  Ethical  Ideal      .     .' 288 

§4.  The  Religious  Ideal 291 

Chapter  V.     Ulitsory  Cognitions 295 

§  1.  Illusions  in  general:  Distinction  of  Hallucination,  Illu- 
sion, and  Fallacy 295 

§  2.  Dreaming 305 

§  3.  Hypnotic  States 316 

Chapter  VI.     General  Nature  of  Knowledge  ;    Theories  on  the 
Subject ;  Relativity  of  Knowledge  ;  Explanation 

of  Terms 328 

§  1,  Self-consciousness 338 

I.  Its  gradual  Evolution 339 

II.  Its  various  Distortions 340 

III.  Its  occasional  Disunion 341 

§  2.  Time 350 

§  3.  Space 354 

§  4.  Substance 361 

§  5.  Cause 369 


viii  CONTEiNTS 

Pagb 

Part  II.    Feelings 371 

Introduction 371 

§  1.  The  Nature  of  Pleasure  and  Pain 373 

§  2.  The  Expression  of  the  Feelings 395 

§  3.  The  Classification  of  the  Feelings 401 

Chapter  I.     Feelings  of  Sense 404 

Chapter  II.     Feelings    originating   in   Association ;    Loves    and 

Hates 425 

§  1.  Feelings  for  External  Nature 427 

§  2.  Feelings  for  Self 433 

§  3.  Feelings  for  Otliers 437 

I.  Sympathy 439 

II.  Antipathy 445 

Chapter  III.     Feelings  originating  in  Comparison       461 

Chapter  IV.     Intellectual  Feelings 470 

Chapter  V.     Feelings  of  Action 475 


Part  111.     Volitions 477 

Chapter     I.     General  Nature  of  Volition 477 

Chapter    II.     Motive  Power  of  the  Feelings 486 

Chapter  III.     Extension  of  Voluntary  Control  over  Muscles,  Feel- 
ings, and  Thoughts 497 

Chapter  IV.     Freedom  of  Volition 505 

INDEX 511 


PSYCHOLOGY. 


mTEODUCTOEY   CHAPTER 

§  1.  —  Definition  of  Psychology. 

PSYCHOLOGY  ^  is  the  name  now  generally  applied 
to  the  science  which  investigates  the  phenomena 
of  mind.  Mind  ^  is  also  denoted  by  the  words  soul  and 
spirit,  while  in  modern  times  it  has  become  common 
to  use,  as  equivalent  to  these,  certain  expressions  con- 
nected with  the  first  personal  pronoun,  thrown  into  the 
form  of  substantives, — the  I,  the  me,  the  ego,  the  self. 
Another  modern  fashion  in  psychological  language  is  to 
describe  the  mind  by  the  term  subject.  The  external 
world,  when  contrasted  with  mind  or  soul  or  spirit,  is 
spoken  of  as  matter  or  body;  it  is  opposed  to  the  terms 
expressive  of  the  first  person  as  the  nonego  or  not  self , 

^  This  name,  though  derived  from  ancient  Greek,  is  of  comparatively 
modern  origin.  It  was  used  for  the  first  time  apparently  during  the 
sixteenth  century,  perhaps  among  the  Ramists ;  at  least,  Freigius  is 
the  earliest  author  in  whose  writings  it  has  been  discovered.  See 
Hamilton's  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  135-136.  Hamilton 
adopts  an  apologetic  tone  in  using  the  word,  as  if  he  felt  it  to  be  an 
innovation.  It  seems,  therefore,  to  have  been  in  his  time,  that  is, 
towards  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  perhaps  largely 
through  his  influence,  that  the  word  came  Into  general  use  In  English 
literature. 

^  On  the  history  of  the  word  mind  a  learned  philological  article  by 
Mr.  Earle  will  be  found  in  Mind  for  July,  1881. 

1 


.*, ; :«' :  >;  V-  • :  i      PS YCHOLOGY 

while  the  counterpart  of  subject  is  object.  In  recent 
times  mental  phenomena  are  frequently  distinguished 
from  physical  by  the  term  psychical^  —  a  term  of  some 
advantage  from  its  being  cognate  with  the  name  of  the 
science. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  psychology  is  charac- 
terised by  a  peculiarity  which  distinguishes  it  from 
other  sciences.  In  the  study  of  these  the  mind  is 
occupied  with  the  objects  presented  to  it;  in  the  study 
of  psychology  the  mind  turns  back  upon  itself,  and 
makes  its  own  activity  the  object  of  investigation.  Sub- 
ject and  object  become  thus,  for  the  moment,  one.  A 
material  thing  —  a  mineral,  plant,  or  animal  —  may 
become  kno^vn  to  me,  and  may  give  me  pleasure  or  pain. 
If  my  interest  in  it  is  not  psychological,  it  will  be  the 
material  thing  itself  that  claims  my  attention  without 
regard  to  its  influence  upon  me.  But  in  a  psychological 
study  the  material  thing  loses  all  interest  in  itself,  and 
my  attention  is  directed  entirely  to  my  own  action  in 
knowing  it,  or  to  the  pleasure  or  pain  which  it  excites. 
It  is  such  actions  or  feelings  of  myself  —  the  phenomena 
of  my  own  mind  —  that  form  the  object  of  psychology. 

Now  these  phenomena  are  distinguished  by  a  very 
marked  characteristic.  Any  material  thing,  whether 
organic  or  inorganic,  whether  at  rest 'or  in  motion  or 
undergoing  any  internal  change,  is  wholly  unaware  of 
its  o^vn  condition.  It  is  not  so  with  me.  I  may  be  igno- 
rant of  innumerable  actions  and  processes  going  on  in 
my  own  body  and  in  other  bodies;  but  of  what  I  my- 
self do  or  suffer  I  must  be  cognisant,  else  it  could  not  be 
said  to  be  done  or  suffered  by  m.e.  If  I  feel  a  pleasure 
or  a  pain,  I  must  know  that  I  feel  it ;    and  to  deny  my 


i:n'teoductoey  chapter  3 

knowledge  of  the  feeling  would  be  to  deny  its  existence. 
In  like  manner,  when  I  see  or  hear,  remember  or  imag- 
ine, believe  or  disbelieve,  love  or  hate,  I  must  know  that 
I  do  so.  Now  this  knowledge  of  what  is  passing  within 
me  is  called  consciousness;  and  it  forms  the  distinctive 
attribute  of  the  mind  or  self. 

To  avoid  misapprehensions,  it  may  be  observed  that 
we  often  speak  of  doing  an  action  unconsciously.  This 
seems  to  contradict  the  assertion  that  consciousness 
characterises  all  the  actions  we  perform.  But  the  truth 
is,  that  when  we  use  this  expression  we  mean  that  such 
an  action  is  in  reality  done,  not  by  ourselves,  but  by 
those  notselves, — those  material  things  which  we  call  our 
muscles,  nerves,  and  brains.  When  a  muscle  twitches, 
or  a  nerve  or  brain-fibre  thrills,  without  the  movement 
being  willed  or  intended  by  me,  it  is  not  I  that  produce 
the  movement.  It  will  be  shovim,  in  fact,  that  nervous 
and  muscular  actions  often  simulate  strikingly  the 
appearance  of  being  originated  and  controlled  intelli- 
gently by  me,  when  in  reality  they  are  immediately  due 
to  habits  of  body  formed  long  before  by  myself,  or  per- 
haps by  my  ancestors,  or  by  the  general  constitution  of 
nature.  But  an  action  of  which  we  are  wholly  uncon- 
scious is  one  with  which  we  have  truly  nothing  to  do, 
and  that  is  the  reason  why  we  often  exculpate  ourselves 
by  pleading  that  we  acted  unconsciously,  inasmuch  as 
the  action  could  not  then  really  have  proceeded  from  us. 

It  follows  from  this,  that  in  speaking  of  the  mind  we 
must  avoid  supposing  it  to  be  the  brain  or  the  heart,  or 
any  other  portion  of  the  material  thing  we  call  our  body. 
We  sometimes,  indeed,  by  a  figure  of  speech,  use  hraiii 
and  heart  to  mean  mind  or  soul;    and  the  figure  is 


4  PSYCHOLOGY 

allowable  so  far  as  the  inexact  requirements  of  ordinary 
language  are  concerned.  But,  in  scientific  accuracy, 
"  I "  am  not  a  brain,  or  heart,  or  system  of  nerves,  or 
any  part  or  the  whole  of  a  body. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  distinctive  characteristic  of 
mind  is,  to  be  conscious  of  its  phenomena;  and  con- 
sequently these  phenomena  are  often  described  as 
phenomena  of  consciousness.  Like  the  phenomena  of 
external  nature,  those  of  our  internal  consciousness  wull 
commonly  be  found  to  be  composite,  and  therefore  to 
require  analysis.  In  order  to  such  an  analysis,  it  is 
necessary  to  know  the  elementary  materials  which  enter 
into  the  composition  of  the  phenomena  analysed ;  and 
accordingly  the  description  of  these  materials  will  form 
the  subject  of  the  First  Book  of  this  work,  which,  as 
applying  to  all  the  phenomena  of  mind  in  general,  may 
be  appropriately  styled  General  Psychology.  The 
Second  Book,  to  be  distinguished  as  Special  Psychology, 
will  investigate  the  various  combinations  which  form  the 
special  phases  of  our  mental  life. 

Before  proceeding  to  these  subjects,  some  further  in- 
troductory remarks  may  be  found  of  service  in  reference 
to  the  method  which  should  be  adopted  in  the  study  of 
our  science. 

§  2.  —  Method  of  Psychology. 

The  method  of  Psychology  is  determined  by  the 
nature  of  the  phenomena  which  it  investigates.  The 
nature  of  these  phenomena,  as  we  have  seen,  is  that 
they  are  ahvays  accompanied  by  consciousness  on  the 
part  of  their  subject.  It  is  consequently  by  means  of 
this    accompanying   consciousness,    directed   by   proper 


INTRODUCTOKY   CHAPTER  5 

precautions,  that  we  must  investigate  the  mind.  The 
proper  precautions,  indeed,  must  not  be  neglected  in 
studying  the  phenomena  of  mind  any  more  than  in 
observing  the  phenomena  of  the  material  world ;  for  it 
cannot  be  supposed  that  the  ordinary  consciousness  of 
men  will  give  them  a  scientific  knowledge  of  what  is 
passing  in  their  minds  more  readily  than  their  ordinary 
perceptions  reveal  the  physical  facts  disclosed  to  the 
scientific  observer.  The  precautions  which  the  psychol- 
ogist must  adopt  in  order  to  direct  and  correct  his  ob- 
servations are  not  essentially  different  from  those  which 
must  be  taken  by  other  scientific  observers;  they  are 
rendered  only  more  necessary  inasmuch  as  nearly  all 
the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  accurate  observation  are 
greatly  enhanced  by  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
mental  phenomena.  These  characteristics  are  to  be 
found  mainly  (1)  in  the  extreme  evanescence  of  the 
phenomena,  and  (2)  in  the  fact,  connected  with  this, 
that  they  tend  to  vanish  in  the  very  act  of  being 
observed. 

1.  In  the  majority  of  scientific  studies  it  is  possible 
to  retain  objects  of  observation  for  an  indefinite  length 
of  time,  to  return  to  them  again  and  again  for  renewed 
examination,  or  to  obtain  fresh  specimens  when  required. 
'Not  so  with  the  facts  studied  by  the  psychologist.  As 
will  appear  in  the  course  of  subsequent  explanations, 
consciousness  seems  to  become  fatigued  by  prolonged 
continuance  in  the  same  state,  so  that  variation  is  an 
essential  condition  of  conscious  activity.  "  Semper  sen- 
tire  idem  ac  non  sentire  ad  idem  recidunt."  ^ 

*  Hobbes,  Latin  Works,  Vol.  I.,  p.  321.  Compare  English  Works, 
Vol.  I.,  p.  394,  and  Vol.  VII.,  p.  83. 


6  PSYCHOLOGY 

2.  Such  variation  occurs  whenever  the  student  begins 
to  observe  any  conscious  activity.  The  act  of  observing 
becomes  a  new  state  of  consciousness,  displacing  more 
or  less  completely  the  state  which  is  being  observed.  For 
any  conscious  state,  such  as  a  fit  of  anger,  depends  on 
the  presence  of  some  object  by  which  it  is  provoked; 
and  therefore  if  the  mind  is  turned  from  the  irritating 
object  in  upon  the  feeling  of  irritation  which  it  excites, 
the  feeling  almost  inevitably  dies  away  from  lack  of  its 
stimulus. 

These  facts  render  all  the  precautions  of  scientific 
observers  peculiarly  imperative  for  the  psychologist. 
Now  one  of  the  most  valuable  safeguards  against 
mistakes  in  observation  is  found  by  varying  the  circum- 
stances in  which  phenomena  are  observed.  This  safe- 
guard is  readily  supplied  to  the  psychological  observer 
by  refusing  to  satisfy  himself  with  the  mere  introspec- 
tion of  his  individual  mind,  and  endeavouring  to  watch 
the  mental  operations  of  others,  as  far  as  these  are  ex- 
pressed in  their  language  and  external  conduct.  The 
study  of  psychology,  by  reflection  on  one's  own  con- 
scious life,  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  the  Introspective 
or  Subjective  Method,  by  observations  on  the  minds  of 
others  as  the  Objective  Method.  Though  some  schools 
reject  or  unduly  depreciate  the  former,  it  is  evident  that 
both  methods  must  be  combined;  for  if  introspective 
observations  require  to  be  constantly  corrected  by  an 
appeal  to  the  experience  of  others,  obviously  such  expe- 
rience can  have  no  meaning  for  us  except  when  inter- 
preted by  the  facts  of  our  o^vn  consciousness.  The  two 
methods  must  therefore  go  hand  in  hand,  and  both  may 
increase  their  efficiency  by  the  addition  of  experiment 


INTKODUCTOEY   CHAPTER  7 

to  simple  observation.  It  is  true  that  experimentation 
on  human  beings  is  limited  by  moral  considerations; 
but  even  within  the  limits  allowed  by  morality  there  is 
a  wide  field  open  to  valuable  experiment.  The  fact  is, 
that  our  transactions  with  our  fellow  men  generally  pro- 
ceed on  the  assumption  that  certain  states  of  mind  are  in 
certain  circumstances  likely  to  be  excited  in  them,  and 
that  corresponding  activities  are  likely  to  be  called  into 
play  in  our  own  minds;  so  that  in  our  social  relations 
we  may  be  said  to  be  all  the  time  making  psychological 
experiments  on  one  another.  All  educational  work  is 
evidently  a  vast  system  of  psychological  experimentation. 
To  carry  out  the  objective  method  effectually,  it  is 
important  to  seek  the  assistance  of  those  studies  which 
have  for  their  object  to  inquire  into  the  phenomena  of 
human  life  that  reflect  the  mental  condition  of  men 
under  every  variety  of  external  circumstances.^  The 
facts  which  reflect  the  mental  life  of  man  may  do  so 
either  as  being  its  product  or  in  so  far  as  it  is  theirs. 
These  it  may  be  convenient  to  consider  apart. 

*  Objective  observations  may  sometimes  usefully  be  extended  to  the 
mental  life  of  the  lower  animals,  which  occasionally  throw  light  on 
the  lower  activities,  at  least,  of  the  human  mind  ;  but  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  actions  of  animals,  as  implying  facts  similar  to  those  of  our 
own  consciousness,  cannot  be  accompanied  with  too  great  caution.  The 
student  who  wishes  to  follow  out  this  line  of  inquiry  may  consult 
Romanes's  Animal  Intelligence  (1881)  and  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals 
(1883)  ;  Wundt's  Lectures  on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology  (English 
translation,  1894)  ;  Lloyd  Morgan's  Animai  Life  and  Intelligence  (1891) 
and  Animal  Behavior  (1900).  The  Nature  and  Development  of  Animal 
Intelligence  (1898),  by  Dr.  Wesley  Mills,  is  an  interesting  contribution 
to  the  descriptive  psychology  of  animal  life.  Those  who  care  to  go  into 
older  speculations  will  find  a  collection  of  curious  information  in  two 
articles  in  Bayle's  Dictionary.  One  is  the  article  on  Pereira,  who  repre- 
sented the  view  most  prominently  associated  with  Descartes,  which 
denies  any  real  mind  or  conscious  life  to  animals.  The  other  Is  on 
Rorarius,  who  went  to  the  opposite  extreme,  holding  "  quod  bruta  saepe 
melius  utantur  ratione  quam  homines."  Lindsay's  Mind  in  the  Lower 
Animals  (1880)  seems  at  times  to  favour  this  doctrine. 


8  PSYCHOLOGY 

I.  As  every  tree  is  known  by  its  fruit,  so  the  mind 
is  revealed  in  its  products.  Of  these  most  have  been 
reduced  to  orderly  study  in  separate  sciences. 

1.  The  main  instrument  which  man  employs  for  the 
expression  of  his  conscious  states  is  language;  and 
therefore  the  Science  of  Language  will  be  found  of  con- 
tinual service  to  the  psychologist.  For,  as  it  is  out  of 
the  abundance  of  the  heart  that  the  mouth  speaketh,  it 
will  appear  from  numerous  examples  in  the  etymology 
of  isolated  words,  as  well  as  in  the  wide  researches  of 
comparative  philology,  that  the  speech  of  men  often 
reveals  the  history  of  ideas  and  feelings  and  mental  hab- 
itudes which  could  not  otherwise  be  traced  with  so  sure 
a  step. 

2.  The  origin  of  language  is  hidden  in  the  trackless 
distance  of  a  prehistoric  past;  so  also  is  the  origin  of 
society  and  of  the  system  of  life  which  society  entails. 
But  the  actual  condition  of  society,  both  in  our  own  day 
and  throughout  historical  periods,  is  within  our  reach; 
and  there  are  few  more  fascinating  branches  of  study 
than  that  which  investigates  the  picturesque  varieties 
of  moral  standard,  of  social  custom,  of  political  institu- 
tions, by  which  human  life  is  diversified  under  different 
climates  and  at  different  stages  of  civilisation.  The 
accumulation  of  evidence  on  these  subjects,  especially  in 
recent  times,  throws  occasionally  a  welcome  light,  if  not 
on  the  origin,  at  least  on  the  development,  of  many  feel- 
ings and  ideas  and  convictions  which  play  an  important 
part  in  the  human  consciousness.  The  collection  and 
preservation  of  accurate  statistics  with  regard  to  the 
existing  phenomena  and  the  current  changes  of  society 
are  becoming  a  serious  work  among  all  civilized  nations ; 


INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER  9 

and  the  facts  thus  obtained  may  often  be  consulted  for 
evidence  of  the  operation  of  great  mental  laws. 

3.  The  studies  which  have  just  been  indicated  be- 
long to  what  older  writers  with  some  propriety  were 
wont  to  describe  as  the  Natural  History  of  Man.  But 
the  civil  or  political  history  of  man  —  what  we  under- 
stand by  history  simply,  including,  of  course,  biography, 
which  is  but  the  history  of  individuals  —  is  not  without 
its  value  to  the  psychologist,  as  revealing  the  mental 
influences  by  w^hich  human  life  receives  its  determinate 
character  in  any  particular  country  at  any  particular 
time,  as  well  as  its  development  from  age  to  age.  In 
fact,  the  Philosophy  of  History  must  seek  to  bring  the 
periods  in  the  evolution  of  a  nation  or  in  the  vaster 
evolution  of  the  human  race  into  harmony  with  the 
universal  laws  of  the  human  mind. 

4.  But  the  phenomena  w^hich  most  directly  reflect 
the  mental  life  of  man  are  the  products  of  his  mind  in 
science  and  art.  Science  is  evidently  the  systematic 
effort  of  human  intelligence  to  unfold  the  intelligible 
order  that  exists  throughout  every  realm  of  the  universe ; 
and  the  evolution  of  scientific  ideas  must  be  an  exponent 
of  the  laws  which  govern  the  evolution  of  man's  general 
intelligence.  In  science  the  cool  intellect  alone  is  called 
into  play;  in  art  the  intellectual  life  is  warmed  with 
feeling.  The  fine  arts,  therefore,  represent  a  double 
aspect  of  man's  mental  nature,  —  his  power  of  knowing 
and  his  power  of  feeling.  Accordingly  the  critical  study 
of  the  fine  arts  —  of  sculpture  and  painting,  of  music 
and  literature  —  will  be  found  extremely  serviceable 
in  assisting  to  unravel  some  of  the  most  complicated 
operations  of  the  mind. 


10  PSYCHOLOGY 

II.  But  the  mind  is  not  only  a  producer,  it  is  also  a 
product.  It  is  true  that  the  function  of  mind  is,  by 
becoming  conscious  of  the  forces  of  nature,  to  free  man 
from  subjection  to  their  unqualified  sway.  Still  what- 
ever freedom  from  the  mere  force  of  nature  the  mind 
may  reach,  there  is  another  aspect  in  which  it  remains 
a  natural  product;  and  in  this  aspect  it  receives  an 
explanation  in  the  agency  of  those  natural  forces  by 
which  it  is  modified. 

1.  Here  the  vast  cosmic  forces  of  the  solar  system 
may  be  practically  left  out  of  account,  as  their  influence 
on  the  human  mind  is  of  an  extremely  remote  and  in- 
direct character.  The  changes  of  summer  and  winter, 
of  day  and  night,  of  morning  and  evening,  as  well  as  the 
varying  phases  of  the  moon,  do  exercise  an  appreciable 
influence  over  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  men.  But 
the  influence  of  these  agencies  in  human  life  is  not  the 
irresistible  domination  of  a  natural  force,  such  as  they 
exert  over  vegetation  or  over  the  life  of  migratory  or 
hibernating  animals ;  it  is  an  influence  which  in  normal 
health  is  completely  under  the  control  of  intelligent 
volition,  and  grows  tyrannical  only  when  by  disease  life 
becomes  helplessly  subject  to  external  nature.^  It  is  true 
that  the  grandeur  and  mystery  of  the  great  cosmic  move- 
ments have  in  earlier  times  exercised  such  a  fascina- 
tion over  the  human  mind  as  to  gain  the  credit  of  a  direct 
influence  on  human  life,  the  systematic  interpretation 
of  which  formed  the  exploded  science  of  astrology.  But 
the  general  advance  of  human  thought  to  the  modern 

*  The  supposed  tyranny  of  the  moon  over  the  diseased  mind  Is  pre- 
served In  the  Latin  lunaticua,  the  Greek  cfXrfyiaKSs,  our  English  moon- 
struck, as  well  as  the  older  expressions  moonish  and  moonling. 


INTROBTJCTORY    CHAPTER  11 

scientific  point  of  view  is  strikingly  indicated  when  we 
contrast  an  antique  astrological  calculation  on  the  effect 
of  a  man's  ^^  star  "  with  the  causal  connection  which 
recent  observations  have  endeavoured  to  establish  be- 
tween the  sun's  spots  and  the  social  disasters  which 
follow  a  famine.  Still  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  in 
the  very  word  disaster  there  is  a  reminder  of  the  old 
belief  that  the  calamities  of  human  life  resulted  from 
the  power  of  an  "  evil  star/'  that  the  unfortunate 
in  life  were,  in  fact,  what  we  call  them  yet,  "  ill- 
starred."  Moreover,  words  like  jovial^  mercurial,  sat- 
urnine, come  more  directly  home  to  the  psychologist,  as 
they  recall  the  fact  that  certain  dispositions  of  the  mind 
were  at  one  time  supposed  to  be  due  to  the  influence  of 
particular  planets. 

2.  Only  less  remote  than  the  influences  just  described 
are  those  which  have  their  origin  in  terrestrial  nature, 
—  the  influences  of  a  geographical,  climatic,  and  mete- 
orological character.^  Climate  and  geographical  feat- 
ures have  an  undoubted  power  to  mould  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  men ;  but  their  effects  in  the  history  of 
the  human  mind  have  often  been  exaggerated  by  for- 
getting or  underestimating  the  energy  of  intelligence  in 
asserting  itself  over  the  force  of  its  environment.  Soil 
and  climate  and  weather  absolutely  determine  the  life 
of  animal  and  plant;  but  man  succumbs  to  their  influ- 
ence only  in  proportion  as  disease  reduces  him  to  the 

1  Cousin  devotes  the  eighth  of  his  Lectures  on  Modern  Philosophy  to 
the  influence  of  Physical  Geography  in  History.  Montesquieu,  in  L'Esprit 
des  Lois,  devotes  four  Books  (14  to  17  inclusive)  to  the  influence  of 
climate,  and  one  (18)  to  the  influence  of  geographical  features,  on  the 
legislation  of  different  countries.  Taine's  History  of  English  Literature 
gives  prominence  to  the  effect  of  climate  in  giving  a  tone  to  the  litera- 
ture of  England. 


12  PSYCHOLOGY 

condition  of  a  mere  animal  organism,  and  thereby  ren- 
ders impossible  the  independent  play  of  intelligence. 

3.  But  in  what  is  appropriately  called  human  nature 
we  come  upon  a  region  of  the  natural  forces  which 
necessarily  have  a  very  direct  influence  in  modifying 
the  mental  life  of  man.  Among  the  powers  of  human 
nature  some  may  be  distinguished  as  universal  from 
others  w^hich  are  particular. 

i.  By  the  former  are  meant,  of  course,  those  powers 
which  are  common  to  the  whole  of  mankind.  Xow, 
some  of  these  are  extrinsic  to  the  individual. 

(a)  There  are  two  influences  which  may  be  thus  char- 
acterised, —  one  an  influence  extending  back  into  the 
past,  the  other  an  influence  surrounding  us  in  the 
present. 

a.  The  former  is  spoken  of  popularly  as  the  influ- 
ence of  blood,  of  the  family  or  race  to  which  an  indi- 
vidual belongs.  It  is  commonly  now  described  in 
scientific  literature  as  heredity.  Amid  the  innumerable 
varieties  by  which  human  beings  are  distinguished, 
there  are  certain  prevailing  types  along  which  these 
varieties  are  ranged;  and  such  predominant  types  of 
variation  may  be  traced  in  the  mental  as  well  as  in  the 
bodily  characteristics.  A  type  of  this  kind  may  often  be 
referred  to  the  common  origin  of  the  individuals  in 
whom  it  predominates,  and  it  then  constitutes  what  we 
understand  by  a  difference  of  family  or  race.  The  exact 
nature  of  heredity  and  the  mode  of  its  operation  form 
one  of  the  most  vexed  problems  in  biology,  especially 
since  the  publication  of  Essays  on  Heredity  and  other 
works  on  kindred  topics  by  Weismann  within  the  past 
twenty  years.    The  biological  question,  however,  does  not 


liTTKODUCTOKY    CHAPTER  13 

immediately  concern  us.  Here  it  is  sufficient  to  recog- 
nise the  general  fact  that  some  of  the  peculiar  pro- 
clivities in  the  minds  of  men  seem  to  "  run  in  the  blood." 
The  extent  to  which  this  is  the  case  still  forms  a  dis- 
puted question.  Some  writers,  like  Galton  in  his  Hered- 
itary Genius  (1869)  and  his  Inquiries  into  Human 
Faculty  (1883),  as  well  as  in  other  writings,  ascribe 
even  a  more  potent  influence  to  heredity  than  to  environ- 
ment or  education.  But,  leaving  the  discussion  of  this 
question  to  a  later  chapter,  we  must  here  be  content  to 
recognise  the  simple  fact  that  the  mind  of  man  is  in 
some  measure  controlled  by  hereditary  influences. 

/8.  But  these  influences  are  apt  to  be  traversed  by 
another,  proceeding  from  the  general  tendencies  of  the 
age  to  which  an  individual  belongs.  These  are  generally 
summarised  as  the  Zeitgeist,  or  spirit  of  the  age.  It 
requires  little  study  of  the  past  to  discover  the  fact  that 
every  period  of  history  is  characterised  by  a  peculiar 
type  of  mental  life,  which  shapes  its  forms  of  thought 
as  well  as  of  language;  and  it  is  one  of  the  tasks  of 
historical  imagination  to  place  ourselves  in  the  mental 
condition  of  the  period  we  study,  and  to  represent  the 
phases  of  thought  and  sentiment  by  which  the  world 
was  interpreted  at  the  time. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  both  of  the 
influences  just  described  are  qualified  by  the  principle 
already  noticed,  that  the  mind,  being  essentially  intelli- 
gent of  the  forces  of  nature,  may  not  only  emancipate 
itself  from  their  unlimited  sway,  but  even  direct  their 
operation.  In  fact,  all  human  progress  rests  on  the 
possibility  of  rising  above  their  control,  just  as  the 
evolution  of  new  species  implies  the  possibility  of  an 
increasing  variation  from  hereditary  types. 


14  PSYCHOLOGY 

(b)  But  this  qualification  is  of  less  value  when  we 
come  to  those  influences  of  human  nature  which  are  in- 
trinsic to  the  individual.  These  are  two :  one  being  of  a 
permanent  character, — sex;  another,  of  a  mutable  char- 
acter,— age.  Even  these  agencies,  however,  are  not  ab- 
solutely irresistible  in  their  effects.  The  freedom  of  the 
mind  from  the  tyrannous  sway  of  sex  is  seen  in  the 
manly  courage  which  emergencies  have  sometimes  called 
forth  in  women,  and  in  the  womanly  tenderness  often 
displayed  by  stern  men.  Such  freedom  may  occasionally 
reach  an  extreme  of  excess ;  a  person  may  become  "  un- 
sexed,"  though  this  cannot  happen  without  a  violation  of 
human  nature.  Effeminacy  in  man  and  masculine  bold- 
ness in  woman  are  both  unnatural  monstrosities.  In 
like  manner  the  natural  tendencies  of  age  are  also  some- 
times counteracted ;  youth  occasionally  displays  a  sober 
thoughtfulness  more  characteristic  of  advanced  life, 
while  a  happy  juvenility  of  spirit  is  not  infrequently 
carried  down  into  a  hale  old  age. 

ii.  But,  besides  the  universal  influences  of  race  and 
sex  and  age,  the  human  mind  is  subject  to  other  influ- 
ences that  are  particular,  as  they  form  the  distinctive 
peculiarities  of  individuals. 

(a)  Sometimes  these  peculiarities  are  acquired  in 
the  course  of  the  individual's  life,  and  then  they  con- 
stitute his  habits  or  character.  Habit  has  been  well 
named  a  second  nature,  for  it  acts  in  the  same  way  as 
any  tendency  in  the  original  nature  of  man.  As  habit  is 
acquired,  so  it  can  also  be  overcome,  or  supplanted  by  an 
opposite  tendency.  In  fact,  all  hope  of  intellectual  and 
moral  improvement  rests  on  the  power  of  reforming 
habits. 


INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER  15 

(6)  But  there  is  a  less  variable  sphere  of  human 
nature,  —  that  of  the  tendencies  which  are  bom  in  the 
individual.  These  form  what  we  express  by  the  French 
naturel  in  the  largest  sense  of  the  term,  comprehending 
all  that  is  commonly  understood  by  genius  in  the  intel- 
lectual sphere,  and  in  the  emotional  by  temperament 
or  disposition. 

The  contact  of  man  with  the  general  system  of  forces 
in  his  own  as  well  as  in  external  nature  depends  on  the 
fact  that  in  one  aspect  he  is  an  animal  organism.  The 
part  of  this  organism  by  which  his  conscious  relations 
with  nature  are  governed  is  the  system  of  nerves  dis- 
tributed throughout  his  body  and  centred  in  his  brain. 
Accordingly,  among  the  auxiliary  studies  to  which  the 
psychologist  resorts,  the  highest  value  must  be  attached 
to  human  anatomy  and  physiology,  in  so  far  as  these  ex- 
plain the  structure  and  functions  of  the  different  parts  of 
the  nervous  system.  It  must  not,  indeed,  be  supposed, 
as  has  been  too  hastily  assumed  by  some,  that  the  physi- 
ology of  the  nervous  system  can  enable  us  to  dispense 
with  that  direct  observation  of  consciousness  which 
is  the  special  province  of  psychology.  For  even  if  the 
system  of  nerves  in  the  human  body  were  known  much 
more  perfectly  than  at  present,  no  observation  of  it 
could  ever  reveal  anything  but  material  structures  and 
processes;  no  such  observation  could  ever  reveal  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  and  volitions  which  make  up  our 
conscious  life,  or  the  laws  by  which  these  are  governed. 
Still,  it  would  be  very  unfortunate  for  the  psychologist 
were  he  unduly  to  depreciate  the  assistance  which  he 
may  receive  from  the  physiologist.  It  may  now  be 
accepted  as  a  fact,  that  with  every  phenomenon  of  con- 


16  PSYCHOLOGY 

sciousness  a  corresponding  phenomenon  is  set  up  in  the 
nervous  system;  and  it  will  often  be  found  that  a 
knowledge  of  the  nervous  action  is  the  most  trustworthy 
guide  to  a  psychological  explanation  of  the  phenomenon 
in  consciousness,  or  the  most  efficient  safeguard  against 
mistakes  about  its  nature.  The  student  of  psychology 
will  therefore  be  materially  assisted  by  seeking  at 
least  such  acquaintance  with  the  nervous  system  and  its 
functions  as  may  be  obtained  from  any  good  work  on 
physiology-  Huxley's  Lessons  in  Elementary  Physi- 
ology may  be  recommended  to  the  beginner.  He  may 
afterwards  follow  the  subject  into  elaborate  detail  by 
the  study  of  works  which  attack  the  problems  of  psy- 
chology mainly  from  the  physiological  point  of  view. 
Of  these  probably  the  greatest  is  still  Wundt's  Grund- 
zilge  der  Physiologischen  Psycliologie.  Ladd's  Elements 
of  Physiological  Psychology  is  perhaps  the  best  equiva- 
lent in  English.  The  older  work  of  Dr.  W.  B.  Car- 
penter on  Mental  Physiology  (1875)  has  not  lost  its 
value  or  interest  yet.  For  the  treatment  of  our  science 
in  connection  with  evolutionism  the  student  should  con- 
sult Spencer's  Principles  of  Psychology,  which  will  be 
found  of  great  value  in  other  aspects  as  well. 

Most  of  the  other  studies  which  have  been  referred  to 
in  this  section  as  tributary  to  psychology  are  compre- 
hended under  anthropology  in  the  widest  conception  of 
its  range.  The  student  who  is  not  familiar  with  the 
researches  of  this  science  will  find  an  interesting  account 
of  their  drift,  and  an  admirable  preparation  for  more 
detailed  study,  in  the  Introduction  to  Anthropology  by 
Dr.  E.  B.  Tylor. 


BOOK    L 

GENERAL    PSYCHOLOGY. 

A'N  analysis  of  the  phenomena  of  consciousness 
discovers  the  fact  that  they  are  composed  of  cer- 
tain simple  factors,  which  may  be  regarded  as  the  ele- 
ments of  our  mental  life,  and  that  the  combination  of 
these  elements  is  due  to  certain  simple  processes.  Ac- 
cordingly this  Book  divides  itself  naturally  into  two 
Parts,  devoted  respectively  to  the  elements  and  the 
processes  of  mental  life. 


PART   I. 
THE   ELEMENTS    OF   MIOT). 

ELEME!N^TS  are  phenomena  which  are  incapahle  of 
being  decomposed;  and  therefore  the  elements  of 
mental  life  are  those  simple  facts  beyond  which  science, 
in  its  last  analysis  of  consciousness,  has  been  unable  to 
go.  Such  elementary  facts  form  merely  what  may  be 
called  the  raw  materials  of  mind;  they  are  wrought 
into  actual  mental  states  only  as  they  are  combined  by 
the  processes  which  will  be  afterwards  explained.  These 
raw  materials  of  mind  are  connected  by  natural  law  with 
the  great  system  of  natural  phenomena;  and  the  drift 
of  the  present  investigation  must  be  to  trace  that  con- 
nection. In  doing  so  we  shall  describe,  first,  the  general 
nature  of  the  mental  elements,  and  then  their  specific 
forms. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    GENERAL    NATURE    OF    SENSATION. 

THE  natural  elements  of  which  conscious  life  is 
formed  are  the  phenomena  called  sensations} 
A  sensation  is  any  consciousness  arising  from  an  action 
in  the  bodily  organism.     The  organism,  considered  as 

^  On  the  varlouB  meanings  of  the  term  sensation  Bee  Hamilton's 
edition  of  Reid's  Works,  p.  877,  note.  A  history  of  theories  In  regard 
to  sensation  will  be  found  in  the  same  work,  Note  D,  §  1. 


20  PSYCHOLOGY 

endowed  with  the  capacity  of  exciting  consciousness,  is 
said  to  be  sensitive  or  sensible.  The  general  capacity 
is  spoken  of  as  sensibility,  and  the  particular  forms  of 
the  sensibility  are  called  senses.  As  sensation  depends 
on  the  action  of  the  bodily  organism,  it  may  be  well, 
before  examining  the  nature  of  sensation  itself,  to  con- 
sider the  structure  of  the  organism,  and  the  agencies  by 
"which  its  sensibility  is  excited.  And  here  it  is  worth 
while  to  remember  that  organ  is  a  word  of  Greek  origin, 
meaning  simply  an  instrument.  A  combination  of 
organs,  each  adapted  to  the  service  of  the  whole,  is  what 
we  understand  by  an  organism.  The  human  organism, 
therefore,  is  the  instrumentality  wdth  which  human 
beings  are  endowed  by  nature  to  fulfil  the  functions  of 
human  life. 

§  1.  —  The  Sensible  Organism, 

All  bodies  act  and  react  on  one  another.  Even  the 
mineral  is  subject  not  only  to  the  mechanical  impulse 
of  bodies  impinging  on  it,  but  occasionally  also  to  chemi- 
cal alteration  from  bodies  in  affinity  with  it,  and  to 
thermal  and  electrical  changes  as  well.  The  vegetable 
and  even  the  most  rudimentary  form  of  animal  exhibit 
the  influence  of  foreign  bodies  by  taking  from  them 
the  constituents  necessary  for  existence  or  growth,  and 
restoring  them  after  a  period  to  the  environment.  But 
the  higher  animal  organisms,  and  that  of  man  especially, 
possess  the  power  of  responding  in  an  innumerable 
variety  of  ways  to  surrounding  agencies,  and  this  respon- 
sive power  is  due  mainly  to  the  elaborate  differentiation 
of  the  bodily  organs  in  general  and  more  particularly 
of  the  nervous  system. 


GENERAL  NATURE  OF  SENSATION  21 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  brain  is  the  organ  of 
mind.  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  the  mind 
finds  an  organ  —  that  is,  an  instrument  —  in  the  entire 
animal  organism  ;  and  this  seems  to  be  the  explana- 
tion of  the  ancient  doctrine  which,  instead  of  restrict- 
ing the  soul  to  one  part  of  the  body,  finds  it  "  all  in  the 
whole,  and  all  in  every  part/'  Eor  the  whole  organism 
is  in  every  part  adapted  to  furnish  materials  for  the 
building  up  of  man's  mental  structure  ;  but  it  owes  this 
adaptation  to  the  elaborate  system  of  nerves  with  which 
every  part  is  more  or  less  completely  supplied.  Main- 
taining communication  between  all  parts  of  the  organ- 
ism, the  nervous  system  controls  all  individually  to 
the  service  of  the  whole  collectively.  It  is  the  extent 
of  this  control  that  indicates  the  greater  or  less  perfec- 
tion of  organisation  in  animal  life.  With  the  more 
elaborate  differentiation  of  organs  in  the  higher  animals 
there  arises  also  a  completer  subordination  of  all  parts 
to  the  control  of  one  central  organ.  Jodl  ^  contrasts  the 
higher  and  the  lower  animal  as  a  monarchy  and  a  re- 
public respectively.  Better  would  be  a  contrast  between 
a  strong  central  government  and  the  anarchy  arising 
from  subordinate  authorities  being  semi-independent, 
like  the  feudal  barons  of  mediaeval  Europe,  or  the  sep- 
arate states  in  a  loose  confederation. 

In  man  the  nervous  system  is  twofold :  it  consists  of 
two  systems,  which  are  distinguished  as  the  cerebro- 
spinal and  the  sympathetic.  The  latter,  by  its  distri- 
bution among  the  viscera,  seems  to  be  connected  with  the 
functions  of  organic  life  rather  than  with  those  of  the 
mind,  though  some  hold  it  to  be  the  special  organ  of 

*  Lehrbuch  der  Psythologie,  Chap.  II.,  §  16. 


22  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  emotional  nature.  The  cerehro-spinal  system,  which 
certainly  shows  a  vastly  more  intimate  and  complicated 
connection  with  mind,  is  divisible  into  two  parts,  —  a 
central  and  a  peripheral.  The  central  portion  is  found 
in  the  brain  and  spinal  cord.  It  is  distinguishable  to  the 
eye  by  its  greyish  colour,  and  appears  under  the  micro- 
scope to  be  formed  by  masses  of  minute  vesicles  or  cells. 
The  other  portion,  which  connects  the  centres  with  the 
extremities  as  well  as  the  different  centres  with  each 
other,  is  white  in  colour.  It  consists  of  strands  of 
fibres,  distributing  themselves  in  ever  minuter  rami- 
fications to  every  part  of  the  organism.  Among  these 
fibres  two  groups  may  be  distinguished  as  possessing 
distinct  functions.  One  group,  which  issue  from  each 
side  of  the  front  of  the  spine,  carry  impulses  from  the 
centre  outwards,  and  thereby  stimulate  muscular  move- 
ment ;  the  other  group,  which  issue  from  the  back  of 
the  spine,  transmit  impulses  inwards,  and  excite  sen- 
sation. The  nerves  of  sensation  are,  therefore,  called 
afferent  or  centripetal  ;  those  of  motion,  efferent  or 
centrifugal.  The  body  is  thus  seen  to  be  the  organ  of 
the  soul,  not  merely  as  the  passive  recipient  of  sensa- 
tions excited  by  the  action  of  external  bodies,  but  as  a 
source  of  energy  by  w^hich  it  reacts  on  these  and  produces 
modifications  in  them. 

The  afferent  nerves  which  are  thus  distributed  over 
the  body  are  perpetually  carrying  to  the  spinal  cord 
and  brain  the  impressions  which  have  been  excited  in 
the  various  organs  ;  and  these  organs  become  thus  the 
channels  of  different  sensations.  It  is  a  moot  point 
among  physiologists,  whether  the  specific  differences 
of  sensation  are  due  to  different  nerves  being  endowed 


GENERAL  NATURE  OF  SENSATION  23 

with  different  specific  properties,  or  whether  all  nerves 
are  identical  in  property,  and  become  differentiated  to 
different  functions  merely  in  consequence  of  the  differ- 
ent uses  to  which  they  are  put.  This  question,  how- 
ever, is  of  no  essential  moment  to  the  psychologist ;  for 
him  it  is  sufficient  that  specifically  different  sensations 
are  awakened  by  the  various  alterations  to  which  the 
different  organs  of  the  body  are  subject.  But  of  course 
it  is  implied  that  a  bodily  organ  can  form  the  channel 
of  sensation  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  supplied  with  sen- 
tient nerve-fibres  and  these  are  in  uninterrupted  con- 
nection with  the  brain.  All  the  organs  of  the  body  are 
thus  more  or  less  sensitive  ;  but  in  respect  of  their  sen- 
sibility a  marked  distinction  may  be  drawn  between  two 
classes.  Eor  one  set  of  organs  are  evidently  by  their 
very  structure  adapted  mainly  to  the  special  function 
of  producing  sensation,  and  these  are  accordingly  said 
to  be  the  organs  of  the  special  senses  ;  while  the  other 
organs  of  the  body  give  rise  to  sensation  only  inciden- 
tally, in  performing  the  various  functions  of  animal 
life  to  which  they  are  respectively  adapted.  But  this  is 
a  distinction  which  can  be  conveniently  explained  only 
under  the  third  section  of  this  chapter,  in  the  description 
of  the  various  sensations  we  receive  through  the  differ- 
ent organs. 

§  2.  —  Agencies  which  excite  Sensibility. 

The  bodily  organism,  especially  in  consequence  of 
its  developed  nervous  system,  is,  as  we  have  seen, 
responsive  to  the  action  of  the  various  forces  of  nature ; 
and  these  forces  may  accordingly  be  spoken  of  in  gen- 


24  PSYCHOLOGY 

eral  as  the  agencies  which  excite  sensation.  Now  the 
action  of  these  forces  is  conceived  as  some  form  of 
motion,  whether  it  be  the  motion  of  masses  of  mat- 
ter, or  motion  among  the  particles  of  which  masses 
are  composed.  Consequently  the  immediate  stimulus 
of  sensation  may  in  every  case  be  represented  as  some 
kind  of  movement.  The  movement  may  originate  in 
the  organism  itself  ;  for  all  the  higher  organisms  are 
preserved  and  developed  only  by  innumerable  processes, 
which  are  apt  to  produce  alterations  of  nervous  tissue 
that  may  excite  sensibility.  In  other  cases,  and  these 
are  more  numerous,  the  movement  originates  in  extra- 
organic  bodies  ;  but  it  must  always  be  translated  into 
a  nervous  process  before  it  can  produce  sensation. 

Sensations  are  of  innumerably  various  kinds  ;  they 
vary  in  accordance  with  the  variation  of  the  natural 
movements  by  which  they  are  produced  and  the  part 
of  the  organism  affected.  There  are,  however,  two  dif- 
ferences among  sensations  which  traverse  all  others, 
and  may  therefore  be  noticed  first.  The  first  is  inten- 
sity, that  is,  the  degree  in  which  a  sensation  absorbs 
consciousness.  This  property  has  a  natural  correspond- 
ence with  the  breadth  or  amplitude  of  the  movement 
by  which  the  sensation  is  produced ;  and  by  the  breadth 
or  amplitude  of  a  movement  is  meant  the  space  through 
which  the  moving  body  travels  from  the  point  of  rest 
or  equilibrium.  It  is  true,  as  will  be  shown  more  fully 
in  the  sequel,  the  degree  in  which  a  sensation  absorbs 
consciousness  depends  also  on  the  voluntary  strain  of 
attention,  however  that  is  to  be  explained ;  but  still  the 
natural  tendency  of  any  movement  which  comes  into 
contact  with  our  organism  is  to  obtrude  itself  into  con- 


GENEEAL  NATUEE  OF  SENSATION  25 

sciousness  with  increasing  force  in  proportion  to  every 
increase  in  its  breadth.  Now,  as  every  movement  may 
vary  in  breadth,  every  kind  of  sensation  is  liable  to 
varying  degrees  of  intensity. 

There  is,  however,  a  second  general  characteristic  of 
sensation.  It  depends  on  the  extent  of  the  sensitive 
area  which  is  affected  in  the  excitement  of  a  sensation. 
In  contrast  with  intensity  it  has  therefore  been  called 
extensity,  sometimes  volume  or  massiveness,  and  some- 
times also  simply  quantity  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
specific  quality  of  a  sensation.  It  is  a  characteristic 
which  forms  a  familiar  experience  in  the  difference 
between  a  vagnie  feeling  of  warmth  diffused  through- 
out the  whole  organism  and  the  definite  feeling  of  heat 
at  any  distinct  spot. 

Besides  these  general  differences  of  intensity  and 
extensity,  sensations  are  distinguished  by  specific  differ- 
ences, —  differences  of  quality  or  kind.  These  may  be 
conceived  as  due  to  the  form  of  movement,  and  the  form 
of  a  movement  is  itself  due  mainly  to  its  length  or 
velocity.  There  are,  first,  the  long  slow  movements 
of  material  masses,  which  manifest  themselves  in  the 
form  of  mechanical  pressure,  either  by  sensations  of 
touch,  or  by  sensations  of  resistance  to  muscular  effort, 
or  by  felt  pulsations  upon  the  skin,  or  throughout  the 
nervous  tissue.  When  movements  become  shorter  and 
more  rapid,  reaching  a  velocity  of  between  twenty  and 
thirty  in  a  second,  they  begin  to  affect  an  organ  — 
the  ear  —  specially  differentiated  to  receive  the  impact 
of  such  vibrations,  and  then  excite  in  consciousness  the 
sensations  of  sound.  The  most  rapid  vibrations  audible 
do  not  exceed  38,000  in  a  second,  and  even  these  are 


26  PSYCHOLOGY 

far  beyond  the  limit  of  agreeableness.  We  must  there- 
fore pass  over  a  vast  interval  before  we  reach  the  move- 
ments which  manifest  themselves  in  consciousness  as 
sensations  of  heat.  These  movements  lie  at  the  low^est 
verge  of  luminous  vibrations,  the  slowest  of  which,  repre- 
sented by  the  red  rays  of  the  spectrmn,  rise  to  the  num- 
ber of  451  billions  in  a  second.  But  beyond  the  high- 
est verge  of  light  —  the  violet  rays,  whose  vibrations 
amount  to  785  billions  in  a  second  —  there  lie  the 
atomic  movements  which  appear  in  the  chemical  or 
actinic  action  of  light.  Somewhere  in  this  series  lie 
the  movements  of  electricity,  the  action  of  which  on  the 
nervous  system  produces  the  well-knowm  electrical  sen- 
sations of  a  sudden  shock  or  a  continuous  thrill. 

The  phenomena  of  sensation  are  thus  brought  into 
relation  with  the  general  forces  of  the  physical  world; 
and  the  question  will  naturally  occur,  whether  the  rela- 
tion is  that  uniform  ratio  by  w^hich  the  physical  forces 
themselves  are  held  in  a  system  of  unalterable  corre- 
spondences, —  a  system  which  is  being  gradually  un- 
folded in  the  admirable  investigations  of  modern  science 
on  the  correlation  and  convertibility  of  the  physical 
forces.  If  the  correspondence  of  sensation  to  the  physi- 
cal forces  is  of  the  same  kind,  then  both  must  admit 
of  quantitative  commensuration.  That  would  imply 
that  we  are  able  ( 1 )  to  measure  the  quantity  of  a  given 
sensation,  and  (2)  to  form  an  equation  between  that 
quantity  and  a  given  quantity  of  the  physical  force  by 
which  it  is  stimulated.  The  fact  that  the  same  sensation 
admits  of  more  or  less  intensity  seems  to  furnish  an 
obvious  basis  for  quantitative  measurements  ;  and  on 
this  basis  a  new  line  of  investigation  has  been  opened 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    SENSATION     27 

up  in  recent  times  under  the  name  of  Psychophysics.  It 
is  contended  that  a  psychophysical  law  has  been  estab- 
lished, expressing  a  measurable  correspondence  between 
the  intensity  of  sensations  and  the  quantity  of  physical 
force  which  forms  their  sensible  stimulus. 

To  explain,  it  must  be  observed  that  the  law  is  ad- 
mitted to  hold  only  within  certain  limits.  The  sensi- 
bility has  a  double  limit,  —  one  on  the  side  of  increase, 
another  on  the  side  of  decrease. 

I.  On  the  latter  it  is  evident  there  must  be  a  point 
below  which  a  stimulus  would  be  insufficient  to  excite 
the  sensibility  at  all. 

II.  But  on  the  other  side  also  it  is  found  that  a  given 
increase  of  stimulus  is  not  always  followed  by  a  corre- 
sponding increase  of  intensity  in  the  sensation  produced. 
The  effects  of  excessive  increase  are  different. 

1.  Very  often  an  extremely  powerful  or  extremely 
prolonged  stimulus  may  deaden  the  sensibility  alto- 
gether. The  ear  is  deafened  by  a  very  loud  noise,  the 
eye  is  blinded  by  excess  of  light.  The  skin  also  becomes 
insensible  to  a  continued  contact,  like  that  of  the 
clothing. 

2.  But  in  other  cases  the  sensibility,  instead  of  being 
deadened,  is  altered  by  an  additional  force  of  stimulus. 
The  specific  sensation,  usually  produced  by  an  external 
agent,  may  disappear  when  the  agent  becomes  unusually 
powerful,  and  be  replaced  by  a  general  sensation  of 
an  impleasant  character.  Thus  the  sense  of  tempera- 
ture gives  way  to  an  indefinite  feeling  of  pain  under 
excessive  heat  or  excessive  cold.  At  times,  however, 
a  specific  sensation  of  a  new  character  is  excited ;  that 
is  to  say,  under  certain  conditions  an  increase  of  physical 


28  PSYCHOLOGY 

force  produces,  not  an  increased  quantity,  but  a  different 
quality,  of  sensation,  —  not  the  old  sensation  with  a 
new  intensity,  but  a  new  sensation  altogether.  Thus 
llie  sensation  of  cold  is  not  merely  a  lower  degree  of 
heat,  though  the  stimuli  of  the  two  may  be  said  to  vary 
merely  in  force.  So  a  diminution  of  light  will  make  a 
white  gray,  and  a  blue  black. 

The  sphere  of  the  psychophysical  law,  then,  is  re- 
stricted by  those  limits  within  which  the  specific  sensi- 
bility is  not  destroyed  or  altered.  But  within  these 
limits  the  law  claims  to  express  the  exact  difference  of 
sensation.  The  difference  is  not  indeed  the  same  for 
all  sensations.  It  is  said  to  be  in  the  proportion  3  :  4 
for  hearing  and  touch,  15  :  16  for  touch  assisted  by 
the  muscular  sense,  and  100  :  101  for  sight.  But  it  is 
held  that  there  is  a  constant  difference  for  all  the  senses, 
and  that  this  is  expressed  iA  the  following  law:  To 
make  sensations  differ  in  intensity  in  the  ratio  of  an 
arithmetical  series,  their  stimuli  must  differ  in  the  ratio 
of  a  geometrical  seines. 

IN^ow,  before  discussing  whether  this  law  is  verified 
by  experience,  it  is  worth  while  inquiring  whether  the 
relation  between  physical  and  psychical  phenomena  is 
such  as  to  allow  the  establishment  of  any  psychophysi- 
cal law  whatever.  To  determine  this,  it  is  necessary  to 
consider  the  nature  of  the  transition  from  physical  stim- 
ulus to  sensation.  In  this  transition  there  are  two 
stages  which  it  is  important  to  distinguish:  (1)  The 
physical  movement  must  be  translated  into  a  nervous 
action  ;  and  though  this  may  be  conceived  as  a  mode  of 
motion,  yet  in  the  present  state  of  physiology  the  precise 
nature  of  the  motion  is  unknown,  certainly  cannot  be 


GENERAL    :N'ATIJRE    OF    SENSATIOIT      29 

differentiated  in  correspondence  with  the  differences  of 
physical  stimulus  on  the  one  hand  or  of  sensation  on  the 
other.  (2)  The  physical  and  nervous  movements  must 
be  translated  into  sensation,  into  consciousness.  Here 
is  the  point  where  the  difficulties  of  psychophysics  be- 
come insurmountable. 

I.  By  the  acknowledgment  of  all  thinkers  the  tran- 
sition from  movement  to  consciousness  is  over  a  chasm 
which  cannot  be  bridged  by  the  ordinary  ideas  of 
science;  and  therefore  there  can  be  no  strictly  scientific 
explanation  of  the  transition.  The  scientific  incom- 
prehensibility here  is  twofold. 

1.  There  is  a  general  incomprehensibility  in  the  tran- 
sition from  movement  to  consciousness.  This  is  not 
like  the  translation  of  one  mode  of  motion  into  another. 
The  one  fact  which  renders  possible  the  commensuration 
of  the  various  physical  forces  is  the  circumstance  that 
they  are  all  capable  of  being  described  in  terms  of 
motion.  Even  phenomena,  like  light  or  chemical  action, 
which  cannot  by  direct  observation  be  proved  to  be 
modes  of  motion,  may  yet  be  hypothetically  interpreted 
as  such.  But  no  similar  hypothesis  is  conceivable  in 
reference  to  the  sensations  of  our  conscious  life;  and 
consequently  there  is  here  an  absolute  break  in  the 
continuity  of  scientific  interpretation,  by  which  alone 
sensations  could  be  brought  into  commensurable  rela- 
tion with  the  physical  forces  of  the  universe.  The 
breach  is  rendered  only  the  more  glaring  when  any 
attempt  is  made  to  describe  the  continuity  between 
cerebral  and  conscious  activities  in  terms  of  an  analogy 
with  the  continuity  between  related  phenomena  of  physi- 
cal life.     Thus  the  function  of  the  brain  in  relation 


30  PSYCHOLOGY 

to  conscious  thought  is  sometimes  compared  with  the 
physiological  function  of  other  organs.  The  brain, 
it  has  been  said,  secretes  thought  as  the  liver  secretes 
bile.  But  the  analogy  here  assumed  has  no  existence. 
Every  true  secretion  is,  to  science,  simply  a  rearrange- 
ment of  chemical  elements  existing  in  the  substance 
of  the  secreting  organ.  In  that  sense  brain  and  nerve 
do  secrete  certain  substances,  such  as  cholesterine  and 
creatine.  But  conscious  thought  is  no  such  transforma- 
tion of  the  physical  substance  of  the  brain.  It  is,  as 
Jodl  puts  it  pithily,^  a  veritable  transubstantiation. 
It  is  a  /jLerd/Sao-Lf;  eh  aWo  yevo^.^ 

2.  There  is  also  a  special  incomprehensibility  in  the 
transition  from  any  particular  kind  of  motion  to  any 
particular  kind  of  sensation.  We  cannot  explain  why 
air-waves  appear  in  consciousness  as  sound,  ether-waves 
as  light,  chemical  movements  as  taste  or  smell.  We 
cannot  even  discover  any  reason  for  the  ratio  between 
changes  in  the  velocity  of  movement  and  concurrent 
changes  in  sensation.  There  is  indeed  a  certain  uniform 
progress  in  tones  correspondent  with  the  varying  veloc- 
ity of  the  atmospheric  vibrations  on  which  they  depend. 
Still  the  difference  between  a  higher  and  a  lower  note 
cannot  be  intelligibly  represented  as  having  any  simi- 
larity to  the  difference  between  a  larger  and  a  smaller 
number.  In  like  manner  an  increase  in  the  rapidity  of 
ethereal  vibrations  exhibits  no  resemblance  to  the  prog- 
ress from  the  red  to  the  violet  side  of  the  rainbow. 

II.  Another  obstacle  to  the  establishment  of  a  psycho- 
physical law  is  met  with  in  the  impossibility  of  finding 
one  of  the  terms  in  the  equation  which  the  law  supposes. 

*  Lehrhuch  der  Psychologic,  p.  57. 
2  Aristotle,  De  Coelo,  I.,  4. 


GENEKAL  NATUKE  OF  SENSATION  31 

As  sensation  requires  both  a  physical  stimulus  and  a 
sensitive  organism,  its  intensity  depends  not  only  on 
objective,  but  also  on  subjective,  conditions. 

1.  Now  this  implies,  in  the  first  place,  tliat  the  inten- 
sity of  the  nervous  action  excited  by  the  physical  move- 
ment depends,  not  only  on  the  force  of  that  movement, 
but  also  on  the  state  of  the  organic  sensibility  at  the 
time.  If  the  general  organism  is  exhausted,  as  by  an 
ordinary  day's  work  or  by  any  extraordinary  exertion, 
or  if  the  particular  organ  affected  is  occupied  by  some 
other  stimulus  at  the  moment,  the  resulting  sensation 
may  be  greatly  enfeebled,  while  it  is  susceptible  of 
violent  intensity,  not  so  much  from  the  normal  vigour 
of  the  organism,  as  from  abnormal  irritations  due  either 
to  emotional  excitement  or  to  inflammatory  disease. 

2.  But  leaving  these  organic  conditions  of  intensity 
out  of  account,  there  are  mental  conditions  which  oppose 
an  insuperable  barrier  in  the  way  of  any  such  quantita- 
tive measurements  as  that  under  consideration.  These 
mental  conditions  are  summed  up  in  the  fact  that  we 
are  intelligent  beings.  The  primary  datum  for  forming 
an  equation  between  our  sensations  and  their  physical 
stimuli  is,  as  we  have  seen,  a  determinate  intensity  of 
sensation.  But  we  have  no  means  of  discovering  what 
is  the  real  intensity  of  any  man's  sensations ;  we  can 
obtain  merely  the  judgment  which  he  has  formed  of 
their  intensity.  Now  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
men's  judgments  are  not  in  this  matter,  as  they  are  well 
knoAvn  to  be  in  others,  deflected  from  the  truth  by  many 
a  bias.^ 

*  A  certain  relation  between  mind  and  body  has  been  recognised  from 
the  beginning  of  psychoiogicai  science,  and  even  in  common  thought.  A 
more  exact  statement  of  the  relation,  even  to  the  extent  of  quantitative 


32  PSYCHOLOGY 

Another  quantitative  calculation  has  endeavoured  to 
find  the  interval  of  time  that  elapses  between  the  occur- 
rence of  a  physical  stimulus  and  a  resulting  sensation. 
Here,  again,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  organic 
conditions  are  called  into  play.  The  physical  stimulus 
must  be  converted  into  a  movement  in  nervous  tissue, 
and  transmitted  along  nerve-fibre.  The  rate  at  which 
nerve-force  is  propagated  along  nerve-fibre  must  evi- 
dently be  modified  by  causes  similar  to  those  ^vhich 
interfere  with  intensity.  It  Tvould  appear,  therefore, 
that  any  rate  of  velocity  which  may  be  assigned  to 
nerve-force  can  be  at  best  but  an  average  gathered  from 
a  numberless  variety  of  rates.  But  this  question  be- 
longs to  the  physiology  of  the  nervous  system  rather 
than  to  psychology.  If  we  waive  the  physiological  ques- 
tion altogether,  there  is  still  a  psychological  factor  in 
the  general  problem.  For  the  velocity  with  which  a 
physical  phenomenon  is  followed  by  a  recognition  of  it 
on  the  part  of  an  intelligent  being,  depends  on  the  judg- 
ment which  is  involved  in  the  act  of  recognition;  and 
that  leads  us  into  a  sphere  beyond  the  range  of  mere 
physical  causation.     It  is  a  w^ell-known  fact,  therefore, 

correspondences,  was  attempted  by  several  physiologists  and  psychol- 
ogists in  the  earlier  half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  experiments  of 
E.  H.  Weber  (1795-1878)  especially  form  an  epoch  in  the  investigation 
of  the  subject,  and  the  psychophysical  law  explained  above  is  commonly 
cited  as  Weber's  Law.  But  the  general  theory  of  psychophysics  first 
found  systematic  exposition  in  G.  T.  Fechner's  Elemente  der  Psycho- 
physik  (1860,  reprinted  1889).  This  work  has  called  forth  an  extensive 
literature,  critical  and  expository.  The  literature  is  reviewed  by 
Fechner  in  two  subsequent  works.  In  Sachen  der  Psychophysik  (1877) 
and  Revision  der  Hauptpunkte  der  Psychophysik  (1882).  A  brilliant 
discussion  of  the  subject  will  be  found  in  James's  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology, Vol.  I.,  pp.  533-549.  The  student  will  gain  help  in  mastering 
the  general  problem  from  the  essay  on  Psychology  and  Physiology  in 
Miinsterberg's  Psychology  and  Life  (1899).  There  is  a  more  elaborate 
discussion  of  the  problem  in  Miinsterberg's  later  work,  Grundziige  der 
Psychologie,  Vol.  I.,  Chap.  XI. 


GEIS^EKAL    NATUEE    OF    SENSATION     33 

that  whenever  accurate  observations  are  required  in 
reference  to  time,  remarkable  variations  of  judgment 
appear  among  different  observers.  These  variations 
have  attracted  attention  especially  in  the  science  of 
astronomy,  where  accuracy  of  calculation  depends  on 
exactness,  even  to  fractions  of  a  second,  with  regard  to 
the  time  of  an  astronomical  event;  and  consequently  it 
has  become  necessary,  in  taking  observations,  to  form  a 
"  personal  equation ''  in  order  to  eliminate  possible 
error  from  this  source. 

§  3.  —  Classification  of  Sensations, 

We  have  seen  that  sensations  differ  not  only  in  inten- 
sity, but  also  in  quality  or  kind;  and  we  have  now  to 
seek  a  systematic  arrangement  of  the  different  kinds  of 
sensation  in  the  same  fashion  as  other  sciences  classify 
the  phenomena  with  which  they  deal.  For  such  an  ar- 
rangement the  first  requisite  is  a  natural  principle  of 
classification.  Now  the  sensations,  by  their  very  nature, 
seem  to  furnish  such  a  principle;  for  they  are  con- 
nected, by  some  kind  of  natural  law,  with  the  altera- 
tions in  nervous  tissue  that  are  brought  about  by  the 
forces  of  the  external  universe.  But  these  forces  gener- 
ally produce  a  different  effect  on  different  parts  of  the 
nervous  organism,  and  therefore  the  differences  of  sen- 
sation hold  a  certain  correspondence  with  the  difference 
of  the  organs  in  which  they  originate.  The  distinction, 
then,  between  the  organs  of  sensibility  forms  the  funda- 
mental principle  on  which  the  sensations  are  classified. 
At  the  same  time  there  are  other  facts  to  which  a  subor- 
dinate value  must  be  attached  in  guiding  our  classifi- 

3 


34  PSYCHOLOGY 

cation.  For  even  if  we  include  in  one  genus  all  the 
sensations  which  originate  in  one  organ,  yet  among  these, 
numerous  species,  and  still  more  numerous  varieties, 
may  often  be  distinguished.  To  trace  such  distinc- 
tions we  must  at  times  simply  appeal  to  observations  of 
consciousness  which  are  familiar  to  the  every-day  ex- 
perience of  men.  For  sensations,  being  the  simple  or 
elementary  facts  of  mind,  cannot  be  defined  or  described 
by  anything  more  simple  or  elementary.  The  only  way 
in  which  a  sensation  can  be  made  kno^^Ti  is  by  being  felt. 
!No  descriptive  language  can  ever  make  a  person  know 
what  any  particular  sensation  is,  if  he  is  incapable  of 
feeling  it.  Those  who  are  born  blind  can  form  no  con- 
ception of  a  colour,  nor  those  born  deaf  of  a  sound ;  and 
if  any  one  wishes  to  know  the  taste  or  odour  or  touch 
of  a  substance  with  which  he  is  not  familiar,  he  must 
taste  or  smell  or  handle  it.  But  men  Avho  are  normally 
formed  feel  all  the  ordinary  sensations  of  human  life, 
and  denote  them  by  familiar  terms ;  so  that  we  have  no 
difficulty  in  referring  to  them  as  well-known  facts  of 
consciousness.  For  the  differences  of  sensation  are  often 
clearly  marked  in  our  ordinary  conscious  life;  and  we 
can  generally  direct  or  correct  our  observations  of  these 
differences  by  referring  to  the  organic  processes  or  the 
physical  agencies  in  which  they  have  their  origin.  In 
fact,  these  agencies  and  processes  are  sometimes  adopted 
as  guides  to  independent  classifications  of  the  senses 
which,  even  though  imperfect,  are  full  of  fruitful  sug- 
gestions. Thus,  in  reference  to  the  organic  process  by 
which  sensation  is  excited,  the  senses  have  sometimes 
been  separated  into  two  classes,  distinguished  as  me- 
chanical and  chemical,  touch  being  taken  as  type  of 


GENERAL   NATURE    OF    SENSATION     35 

the  former,  taste  and  smell  of  the  latter.  Again,  the 
senses  of  smell,  taste,  and  touch  may  be  characterised  as 
being  adapted  to  the  gaseous,  the  liquid,  and  the  solid 
conditions  of  matter  respectively;  while  hearing  and 
sight,  thermal  and  electrical  sensibility,  respond  to  the 
vibratory  movements  of  which  molecules  or  atoms  are 
susceptible. 

But  the  accepted  classification  of  the  senses  is  that 
which  follows  the  classification  of  the  sentient  organs. 
It  is  too  common,  however,  to  accept  a  popular  descrip- 
tion which  represents  by  far  too  restricted  a  conception 
about  the  varieties  of  sensibility.  We  have  seen  that  we 
gain  an  adequate  view  of  the  complicated  instrumental- 
ity with  which  mind  is  endowed  only  when  we  regard 
the  whole  body,  and  not  the  brain  merely,  as  the  organ 
of  mind.  The  whole  bodily  organism,  with  its  elabo- 
rate system  of  nerves,  is  perpetually  vibrating  to  the 
innumerable  vibrations  of  the  world's  forces,  and  waken- 
ing in  consciousness  the  innumerable  sensations  that 
form  the  materials  of  our  mental  life.  The  kinds  of  sen- 
sation, therefore,  are  as  various  as  the  organs  of  the 
body,  and  the  processes  to  which  these  are  subject. 
Now  the  classification  of  the  bodily  organs  and  their 
processes  will  naturally  follow  the  order  which  is  gen- 
erally found  convenient  for  anatomical  and  physio- 
logical description.  But  there  is  one  group  of  organs 
distinctly  marked  off  from  the  rest  by  the  fact  that 
by  their  very  structure  they  are  adapted  primarily  to 
the  function  of  giving  specific  kinds  of  sensation,  and 
any  other  function  they  may  subserve  in  the  animal 
economy  is  evidently  subordinate.  Such,  for  example, 
are   the   ear   and   the   eye,   whose   peculiar   formation 


36  PSYCHOLOGY 

obviously  renders  them  susceptible  of  being  affected  by 
the  sound-waves  of  the  atmosphere  and  the  light-waves 
of  ether  respectively;  these  are  the  functions  to  which 
they  are  specially  differentiated.  Accordingly  such 
organs  are  distinguished  as  the  organs  of  the  special 
senses.  The  other  organs  of  the  body  do  give  rise  to  sen- 
sations ;  but  they  do  so  only  incidentally,  in  the  perform- 
ance of  the  various  functions  to  which  they  are  specially 
adapted  by  their  structure.  The  muscles,  the  stomach, 
the  lungs,  and  the  other  organs  of  animal  life  are  thus, 
at  the  same  time,  organs  of  sensation.  The  suscepti- 
bility of  sensation  which  is  thus  spread  over  the  organs 
of  the  body  in  general  is  commonly  called  the  general 
Sensibility.  Its  various  forms  may,  in  contrast  with  the 
special  senses,  be  appropriately  named  the  general 
senses;  but  the  language  of  psychology  in  reference  to 
this  distinction  is  not  yet  fixed. 


CHAPTER   11. 

THE    SPECIAL    SENSES. 

THESE  are  what  are  called  the  five  senses.  They 
are  here,  for  a  reason  that  will  be  afterwards  ex- 
plained, taken  up  in  the  following  order:  taste,  smell, 
touch,  hearing,  sight.  In  the  account  of  each  we  shall 
follow  the  order  already  adopted  in  treating  of  sen- 
sation in  general:  we  shall  describe  (1)  the  organ, 
(2)  the  substances  or  agencies  by  which  the  organ  is 
excited,  (3)  the  sensations  which  result  from  such 
excitation. 

§  1.  —  Taste. 

(A)  The  organ  of  this  sense  is  situated  in  the  back 
of  the  mouth.  The  most  important  parts  of  the  organ 
are  the  posterior  region  of  the  upper  surface  of  the 
tongue,  and  the  soft  palate,  that  is,  the  posterior  portion 
of  the  palate.  But  the  adjoining  structures,  called  the 
pillars  of  the  soft  palate  and  the  tonsils,  are  also  sensi- 
tive to  taste.  The  gustative  sensibility  of  the  palate 
has  impressed  itself  on  ordinary  language  in  the  use 
of  the  word  palate  for  taste,  not  only  as  a  noun,  but, 
formerly,  also  as  a  verb,  and  in  the  verbal  adjective 
palatable.  It  would  appear,  however,  that  different 
parts  of  the  tongue  are  peculiarly  sensitive  to  different 
tastes,  —  the  tip  to  sweet,  the  root  to  bitter.     But  ex- 


38  PSYCHOLOGY 

pcriments  do  not  yield  perfect  exactness  or  uniformity 
in  their  results. 

(B)  Sapid  substances,  as  belonging  to  the  physical 
world,  form  a  subject  of  investigation  for  the  physical 
sciences.  It  is  for  the  chemist  especially  to  trace  the 
constituent  of  any  substance  on  which  its  taste  depends. 
It  may  be  sufficient  here  to  notice  merely  two  facts  about 
sapid  bodies,  —  one  referring  to  their  physical  condi- 
tion, the  other  to  their  chemical  character.  The  first 
is,  that  they  must  all  be  either  liquids  or  solids  in  a  state 
of  solution ;  it  is,  in  fact,  a  familiar  experience  of  every- 
day life,  that  a  dry  substance  remains  incapable  of 
affecting  taste  till  it  has  been  moistened  or  dissolved  in 
the  mouth.  The  other  fact  with  regard  to  sapid  bodies 
is  that  they  are  crystalloids,  while  colloids  are  tasteless. 

It  is  for  the  physiologist  to  explain  the  mode  in  which 
bodies  act  upon  the  organ  of  taste.  It  has  been  already 
mentioned  that  taste  ranks  among  the  senses  which  are 
distinguished  as  chemical ;  and  it  does  so  because  sapid 
substances,  wdien  dissolved  in  the  mouth,  seem  to  undergo 
some  kind  of  chemical  reaction,  by  which  they  stimu- 
late the  terminal  filaments  of  the  gustatory  nerve.  A 
dry  substance  could  not  set  up  the  necessary  reaction, 
and  a  colloid,  being  unable  to  permeate  animal  tissue, 
could  not  reach  the  nerves  underlying  the  mucous  mem- 
brane of  the  mouth.  Only  crystalloids,  therefore,  in  a 
state  of  solution  can  excite  taste. 

(C)  Among  gustatory  sensations  or  tastes  we  must 
distinguish  those  that  are  properly,  from  those  that  are 
improperly,  so  named. 

I.  Of  tastes  proper  there  have  been  various  attempts 
at    classification.      "  Plato    and    Galen    reckon    seven. 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  39 

Aristotle  and  Tlieoplirastiis  eight,  species  of  simple 
tastes.  These  are  estimated  at  ten  by  Boerhaave  and 
Linnaeus,  by  Haller  at  twelve.'^  ^  More  modern  writers 
have  given  different  enumerations,  so  that  no  classifi- 
cation can  yet  be  said  to  be  universally  accepted.  It 
need  only  be  observed  that  the  pure  tastes  most  familiar 
in  our  conscious  life  are  sweet,  sour,  bitter,  salt. 

II.  But  many  sensations  are  improperly  called  tastes, 
being  in  reality  sensations  of  a  different  sense  altogether, 
or  mixed  with  such  sensations. 

1.  Smell  undoubtedly  contributes  to  many  so-called 
tastes.  This  fact  seems  to  be  implied  in  the  words 
flavour  and  savour,  which  are  both  used  for  tastes  and 
smells  indiscriminately ;  and  it  was  pointed  out  so  long 
ago,  at  least,  as  by  Lord  Bacon.^  It  explains  why  a 
catarrh  generally  renders  a  person  insensible  apparently 
to  tastes  w^hich  can  be  readily  appreciated  in  health,  the 
real  insensibility  being  to  the  odour  of  bodies  that  are 
put  into  the  mouth.  From  the  same  cause  the  unpleas- 
antness of  nauseous  drugs  may  often  be  lessened  or 
removed  by  holding  the  nose  while  they  are  swallowed, 
and  a  fuller  gratification  seems  to  be  obtained  from 
wines,  especially  when  sparkling,  by  the  use  of  wide 
glasses.  So  obtrusive  is  this  element  of  odour  in  many 
of  the  familiar  sensations  of  taste  that  some  writers 
have  gone  to  the  extreme  of  holding  all  flavour  to  be  due 
to  the  sense  of  smell ;  but  this  is  contradicted  by  cases 
in  which  the  sense  of  smell  has  been  destroyed  without 
the  taste  being  impaired.* 


»  sir  W.  Hamilton  in  Reicl's  Works,  p.  116,  note. 

•  Uovuin  Organon,  Book   II.,  Aphor.   26. 

•  Carpenter's  Uuman  Physiology,  §  744   (Amer.  ed.,  1860). 


40  •         PSYCHOLOGY 

2.  Some  of  the  general  sensations,  called  alimentary, 
also  mingle  and  become  confounded  at  times  with  pure 
tastes.  By  alimentary  sensations  are  meant  those  ex- 
cited in  the  alimentary  canal,  that  is,  the  passage  through 
which  the  food  is  conveyed  in  the  process  of  digestion. 
The  parts  of  this  canal  nearest  to  the  mouth,  namely,  the 
(Esophagus  and  the  stomach,  give  rise  to  a  variety  of 
sensations  simultaneously  with  tastes;  and  it  is  not 
always  easy  to  distinguish  them  from  tastes  even  by 
attentive  observation.  The  canal  is  similar  in  structure, 
and  is  immediately  contiguous,  to  the  posterior  region  of 
the  mouth,  in  which  the  sense  of  taste  is  situated ;  and 
as  soon  as  a  sapid  body  is  introduced  into  the  mouth,  it 
dissolves  in  the  saliva,  its  particles  in  solution  find  their 
way  into  the  oesophagus  and  stomach,  and  excite  the 
sensibility  of  these  organs.  It  is  scarcely  possible, 
therefore,  to  determine  with  exactness  where  gustatory 
sensibility  terminates,  and  the  sensibility  of  the  alimen- 
tary canal  begins ;  so  that  the  sensations  of  taste  are  to 
be  viewed  as  merely  the  first  in  a  long  series  of  sensa- 
tions connected  with  the  digestion  of  food.  It  is  on  this 
account  that,  whenever  any  article  of  food  is  introduced 
into  the  mouth,  we  feel  whether  it  is  agreeable  to  the 
stomach  or  not ;  that  is,  we  feel  the  stomachic  sensations 
of  relish  or  nausea.  The  state  of  the  alimentary  canal 
also  affects  the  sensibility  of  the  mouth,  making  sub- 
stances taste  quite  differently  in  its  different  conditions. 

3.  Another  class  of  general  sensations,  w^hich  cannot 
here  be  more  definitely  described  than  as  being  of  an 
irritating  character,  are  sometimes  confounded  with 
tastes  proper.  Such  are  the  sensations  produced  by 
substances  like  alcohol,  pepper,  as  well  as  other  spices, 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  41 

and  commonly  spoken  of  as  pungent,  sharp,  or  fiery 
tastes.  That  these  are  quite  distinct  from  true  tastes  is 
evident  from  two  circimistances :  (a)  Mechanical  irri- 
tation, such  as  is  caused  by  a  smart  rap  or  a  scratch  with 
the  finger  on  the  tongue,  may  excite  similar  sensations. 
(6)  They  can  be  excited  also  on  other  parts  of  the 
body  besides  the  organ  of  taste.  Not  only  is  the  mu- 
cous membrane,  which  lines  the  whole  mouth,  the 
nostrils,  and  the  alimentary  canal,  irritable  under  the 
action  of  such  substances,  but  the  most  powerful  of  them 
at  least  can  set  up  severe  inflammation  even  in  the 
tougher  skin  which  covers  the  exterior  of  the  organism. 

§  2.  —  Smell 

(A)  The  organ  of  this  sense  is  the  posterior  region 
of  the  nostrils.  The  fact  that  there  are  two  nostrils 
brings  them  into  analogy  with  the  organs  of  the  higher 
senses,  which  are  also  double,  and  w^hich  derive  an  in- 
crease of  efficiency  from  this  feature.  In  man,  however, 
the  organ  of  smell  is  not  so  highly  developed  as  in  some 
of  the  lower  animals,  especially  the  carnivoroxis.  The 
cerebral  ganglion,  from  which  the  olfactory  nerve  pro- 
ceeds to  the  nostrils,  is  in  man  a  comparatively  insigni- 
ficant bulb  of  nervous  matter,  while  in  those  animals  it 
forms  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  whole  brain.  It 
may  therefore  be  said  that  there  is  more  brain-power 
expended  in  smelling  by  those  animals  than  by  man. 
The  significance  of  this  fact  in  comparative  anatomy 
will  appear  w^hen  we  come  to  analyse  the  perceptions  of 
this  sense.  It  will  then  be  sho^\Ti  that  in  man  the  sense 
has  lost  in  cognitional  power,  while  its  emotional  side 
has  become  predominant. 


42  PSYCHOLOGY 

(B)  Odorous  substances  furnish  interesting  subjects 
of  investigation  to  the  chemist.  Without  entering  into 
details  which  have  no  bearing  on  psychology,  there  are 
two  facts  worth  noticing  here. 

I.  Odorous  bodies  are  either  gases,  or,  if  liquids  or 
solids,  they  must  be  volatile.  Any  agent,  therefore,  like 
heat,  which  increases  volatility,  also  intensifies  odour. 
Accordingly  odour  is  conceived  to  be  due  to  minute 
particles  called  effluvia  emitted  by  odorous  bodies. 
These  particles,  being  diffused  throughout  the  atmos- 
phere, are  carried,  by  the  act  of  inhaling,  through  the 
nostrils,  where  they  excite  the  sensation  of  smell. ^ 

II.  Odorous  bodies  have  all  a  strong  affinity  for 
oxygen;  and  substances  like  hydrogen,  which  do  not 
combine  with  oxygen  at  ordinary  temperatures,  are  in- 
odorous. Chemical  observations  afford  ground  for  be- 
lieving that  the  efiluvia  of  an  odorous  body  become 
oxidised  in  the  nostrils  in  the  act  of  stimulating  the 
olfactory  nerve.  It  is  consequently  inferred  that  the 
action  of  bodies  on  this  sense,  as  on  taste,  is  chemical. 

(C)  In  regard  to  the  sensations  of  smell  there  is  a 
confusion  similar  to  that  w^hich  has  been  already  noticed 
in  reference  to  tastes. 

I.  Of  smells  properly  so  called  various  classifications 
have  been  attempted,  but  none  generally  recognised. 
In  fact,  the  language  of  common  life  shows  a  remarkable 
absence  of  names  for  distinct  odours,  the  only  definite 
distinction  being  that  which  is  based  on  pleasantness 

^  This  explanation  has  been  almost  universally  accepted  in  science. 
The  only  difficulty  connected  with  it  is  the  fact  that  highly  odorous 
substances,  like  musk,  have  been  known  to  emit  eflSuvia  for  years  without 
suffering  an  appreciable  diminution  of  weight  or  bulk.  But  this  fact  is 
matched  by  other  evidences  of  the  indefinite  divisibility  of  matter. 


THE    SPECIAL    SE:N^SES  43 

and  unpleasantness,  —  sweet  or  fragrant  perfumes,  and 
stinks  or  stenches.^ 

It  has  sometimes  been  asserted  that  the  odour-sense 
has  been  evolved  within  the  human  race  and  even 
within  historical  times.  But  the  evidence  of  compara- 
tive psychology  is  apt  to  be  misinterpreted.  The  truth 
is,  as  already  indicated,  that,  in  the  transition  from  the 
lower  animals  to  man,  there  has  been  an  increase  merely 
in  sensibility  to  the  agrecableness  and  disagreeableness 
of  odours,  while  there  has  been  a  diminution  in  the 
power  of  perception  by  scent,  —  a  diminution  which 
seems  an  instance  at  once  of  organic  atrophy  and  of 
intellectual  degeneration,  arising  from  the  disuse  of  a 
faculty.^ 

II.  But  not  a  few  sensations  are  improperly  called 
odours  because  they  are  in  reality  sensations  of  a  differ- 
ent class,  or  mixed  with  such  sensations. 

1.  Pulmonary  sensations  —  that  is,  sensations  con- 
nected with  the  action  of  the  lungs  —  become  inevitably 
confounded  with  odours.  In  the  act  of  breathing,  the 
air,  carrying  the  effluvia  of  bodies,  passes  through  the 
nostrils  on  its  way  to  the  lungs;  and  the  sensations 
awakened  arise  often  as  much  from  the  state  of  the 
lungs  as  from  tlie  state  of  the  nostrils.  This  is  the  case 
with  what  are  called  fresh  and  close  smells.  A  close 
smell  is  the  sensation  experienced  in  an  over-crowded 
assembly  or  ill-ventilated  room,  where  the  vitiated  at- 
mosphere does  not  supply  a  sufficient  quantity  of  oxygen 
for  healthy   respiration.      The   feeling   excited   is   not 

>  A  somewhat  elaborate  description  of  those  sensations  la  given  by 
Professor  Bain  In  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  pp.  155-157   (.'{d  ed.). 

•  This  la  illustrated  afterwards  In  connection  with  the  perceptions 
of  smell. 


44  PSYCHOLOGY 

merely  that  of  irritation  in  the  nostrils,  but  a  conscious- 
ness of  depression  diffused  over  the  whole  animal  sys- 
tem, which  depends  for  its  vitality  at  every  moment  on 
the  aeration  of  the  blood  through  the  lungs.  On  the 
other  hand,  some  of  the  most  voluminous  pleasures  of 
our  animal  nature  are  due  to  the  combination  of  deli- 
cious odours  with  the  bracing  effect  upon  all  the  powers 
of  life  arising  from  the  stimulation  of  cool  fresh  air. 
Any  one  who,  after  being  confined  during  the  heat  of  a 
wet  summer  day,  has  gone  out  to  walk  in  a  country 
redolent  with  the  fragrance  which  the  showers  have 
drawn  from  the  surrounding  vegetation,  may  have  re- 
called the  fine  ode  in  In  Memoriam:  — 

*' Sweet  after  showervS,  ambrosial  air, 

That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 
And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

"  The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
Thro'  all  the  dewy-tassell'd  wood, 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 
In  ripples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 

*'  The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 

The  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 
111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

"  From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 
On  leagues  of  odour  streaming  far, 
To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 
A  hundred  spirits  whisper  '  Peace.'  '* 

2.  The  alimentary  canal  also  seems  to  be  affected  as 
much  as  the  nostrils  in  many  so-called  smells.  Whether 
this  is  due  to  effluvia  passing  into  the  canal  and  irritat- 
ing  its   interior   coat,   or   to   some  nervous   connection 


THE    SPECIAL    SEXSES  45 

between  the  organ  of  smell  and  the  organs  of  digestion, 
is  a  problem  for  physiology  to  solve  Many  aromatic 
substances,  however,  both  solid  and  liquid,  various  kinds 
of  flesh  when  well  cooked,  especially  when  highly  spiced 
or  flavoured  with  sauce,  undoubtedly  excite  the  stomach 
and  stimulate  the  appetite  by  their  odour;  and  it  is 
this  that  makes  the  artifices  of  cookery  so  valuable  when 
the  appetite  is  not  naturally  strong.  So,  too,  many 
smells,  by  the  fact  that  they  are  called  disgusting,  indi- 
cate that  they  are  irritating  to  the  alimentary  canal. 
When  the  stomach  is  already  out  of  order,  it  is  easily 
thrown  into  violent  nausea  by  any  disagreeable  smells; 
but  even  in  health  some  horrible  odours,  especially  when 
unexpected,  produce  a  disturbance  of  the  digestive 
organs. 

3.  Pungent  smells,  like  the  tastes  described  by  the 
same  name,  seem  to  be  rather  general  sensations  of 
an  irritating  character  than  smells  strictly  so  called. 
This  may  be  made  evident  from  two  considerations: 
(a)  Sensations  similar  to  those  excited  by  snuff, 
pepper,  ammonia,  etc.,  can  be  produced  by  mechanical 
irritation,  as,  for  example,  by  the  sudden  contact  of  the 
nostrils  with  a  cold  atmosphere,  or  by  tickling  them 
with  a  feather  or  a  straw.  This  mechanical  irritation 
will  even  start  the  spasmodic  act  of  sneezing,  which 
results  from  the  more  violent  sensations  of  a  pungent 
character.^  (&)  Moreover,  persons  who  have  long 
indulged  in  the  use  of  snuff  sometimes  lose  the  sense  of 
smell  proper,  while  remaining  sensitive  to  the  pungency 
of  their  favourite  stimulant. 

*  The  mechanical  action  of  these  pungent  substances  seems  to  be 
further  indicated  by  their  power  in  restoring  lost  or  fading  conscious- 
ness through  their  stimulating  effect  on  nerve  and  brain,  when  applied 
to  the  nostrils. 


46  PSYCHOLOGY 

§  3.  —  Touch, 

(A)  In  the  most  general  meaning  of  the  term  the 
organ  of  touch  is  the  skin  of  the  whole  body,  includ- 
ing the  membranes  which  line  the  mouth,  the  nostrils, 
and  other  internal  organs.  The  skin  consists  of  two 
layers.  The  outermost  is  an  insensitive  protective  cov- 
ering, called  the  scarf  skin  (cuticle,  or  epidermis). 
Underlying  this  is  the  true  skin  (cutis  vera,  or  derma), 
which  is  sensitive.  But  the  sensibility  of  the  skin  to 
the  contact  of  foreign  bodies  is  dependent  on  certain 
minute  elevations  under  the  true  skin  called  papillae, 
which  are  found  to  be  most  largely  developed  in  size 
and  number  at  those  parts  which  are  proved  by  experi- 
ment to  be  most  sensitive  to  touch.  It  appears,  there- 
fore, that  different  parts  of  the  general  organ  of  touch 
possess  different  degrees  of  acuteness.  To  determine 
the  extent  of  this  difference,  experiments  were  first 
instituted  by  a  distinguished  German  phy&iologist.  Pro- 
fessor E.  H.  Weber;  and  the  results  at  which  he 
arrived  have  been,  in  general,  confirmed  by  subsequent 
observers.  His  aim  was  to  discover  at  what  distance 
two  points  could  be  felt  distinct  on  different  parts  of 
the  skin.  Por  this  purpose  he  used  a  pair  of  compasses 
whose  points  were  guarded  with  cork  or  sealing-wax; 
and  the  persons  on  whom  he  experimented  were  blind- 
folded, to  prevent  the  sight  from  coming  to  aid  the 
touch.  It  is  unnecessary  here  to  state  in  detail  the 
results  obtained.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  most  acute 
parts  were  found  to  be  the  tip  of  the  tongue  and  the 
palmar  surface  of  the  tip  of  the  forefinger,  where  the 
points  of  the  compasses  could  be  felt  distinct  at  the  dis- 


THE    SPECIAL    SEXSES  47 

tance  of  half  a  line  and  one  line  respectively;  while 
on  the  most  obtuse  parts,  which  were  proved  to  be  the 
middle  of  the  back,  the  arm,  and  the  thigh,  the  points 
made  two  distinguishable  impressions  only  at  the  Tis- 
tance  of  thirty  lines.  It  may  be  observed  that  these 
results  represent  merely  the  average  sensibility,  for  in 
making  experiments  of  this  sort  it  must  always  be  borne 
in  mind  that  the  same  part  exhibits  various  degrees  of 
acuteness  in  different  individuals  and  even  in  the  same 
individual  at  different  periods.  Moreover,  these  experi- 
ments test  merely  one  form  of  tactile  sensibility;  but, 
as  far  as  touch  proper  is  concerned,  all  its  forms  are 
fairly  represented  by  the  sensibility  to  distinctness  in 
the  points  of  contact.^ 

The  most  sensitive  part  of  the  general  organ  of  touch 
appears  thus  to  be  the  tip  of  the  tongue;  but  in  many 
respects  it  is  obviously  incapable  of  being  used  for 
ordinary  tactile  observations  so  conveniently  as  the 
finger-tips.  For  delicate  observations,  however,  the 
blind  are  often  seen  employing  the  tip  of  the  tongue. 
With  this  organ  blind  women  sometimes  thread  their 
needles,  and  John  Gough,  the  blind  botanist,  used  to 
examine  any  plant  with  which  he  was  not  familiar, 
though  he  could  readily  distinguish  common  plants  by 
the  touch  of  his  fingers.^     But  apart  from  the  obvious 

*  Investiprations  oricrinatcd  by  the  German  physioloplsf,  Viernrdt, 
point  to  the  conclusion  that  thnso  parts  of  the  organism  where  the  skin 
shows  a  more  acute  sensibility  to  cjiitact  are  also  endowed  with  superior 
mobility.  The  inference  would  seem  to  be  that  the  two  functions  have 
been  connected  in  their  evolution.  See  Jodl's  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologie, 
p.  267. 

*  See  Kitto's  The  Lost  Senses,  p.  346.  Less  commonly  the  lips  are 
used  by  the  blind  for  accurate  touch,  as  in  reading  raised  type  (Levy's 
Blindness  and  the  Blind,  p.  riH) .  Dr.  Franz's  patient  sometimes  exam- 
ined objects  with  the  lips  {Philosophical  Transactions  for  1841,  p.  62). 


48  PSYCHOLOGY 

inconveniences  of  such  an  emplojinent  of  the  tongue, 
the  finger-tips  are  infinitely  better  adapted  by  their  posi- 
tion and  structure  for  the  ordinary  examination  of  tan- 
gible bodies.  The  numerous  joints  of  the  fingers,  along 
with  those  at  the  wrists,  the  elbows,  and  the  shoulders, 
give  an  enormous  sweep  and  a  great  variety  of  direction 
to  the  movements  of  the  finger-tips,  while  in  two  respects 
they  exhibit  that  doubleness  which  has  been  already 
referred  to  as  a  characteristic  feature  in  the  organs  of 
the  higher  senses,  each  hand  acting  against  the  other, 
and  the  thumb  acting  against  the  fingers  in  each  hand. 
The  finger-tips  are  thus  admirably  adapted  at  once  for 
dexterity  of  manipulation,  and  for  delicacy  of  discern- 
ment in  regard  to  the  geometrical  and  physical  proper- 
ties of  bodies.  In  fact,  there  is  no  organ  of  sense  in 
w^hich  the  superiority  of  man  to  the  lower  animals,  with 
their  clumsy  hoofs  and  paws,  is  so  definitely  marked  as 
in  the  organ  of  touch;  and  since  the  time  when  Anax- 
agoras  declared  it  to  be  the  hands  that  make  man  the 
most  intelligent  of  animals,  it  has  been  frequently  ob- 
served that  there  seems  to  be  a  proportion  between  the 
development  of  general  intelligence  and  the  develop- 
ment of  touch   in  the   animal   kingdom.^ 

To  sum  up,  while  the  general  organ  of  touch  is  the 
skin  of  the  whole  body,  the  special  organ  of  the  sense 
may  be  limited  to  the  finger-tips.  If  a  good  dictionary 
or  phrase-book  is  consulted  for  the  numerous  uses  of 

1  An  Interesting  exposition  of  this  proportion  will  be  found  in 
Spencer's  Principles  of  Psychology,  §§  163-164.  "  Goethe  spoke  of  the 
horse,  how  impressive,  almost  affecting,  it  was  that  an  animal  of  such 
qualities  should  stand  obstructed  so  ;  its  speech  nothing  but  an  inar- 
ticulate neighing,  its  handiness  mere  T^oofiness,  the  fingers  all  con- 
stricted, tied  together,  the  finger-nails  coagulated  into  a  mere  hoof,  shod 
with  iron"   (Carlyle,  Past  and  Present,  Book  III.,  Chap.  V.). 


THE    SPECIAL    SE:^rSES  49 

the  word  hand  and  its  compounds,  one  cannot  fail  to  be 
struck  with  the  prominent  recognition,  even  in  popular 
thought,  of  the  fact  that  the  hand  is  the  distinctive  organ 
of  practical  intelligence.  Perhaps  this  connection  of 
the  hand  with  certain  aspects  of  mental  life  forms  the 
slender  foundation  of  the  art  or  sport  or  fraud  of 
palmistry.^ 

(B)  The  action  of  tangible  bodies  contrasts  with 
that  of  sapid  and  odorous  bodies  by  being  purely 
mechanical,  —  mechanical  pressure.  Accordingly  any 
form  of  matter  which  can  exert  such  pressure  may 
become  an  object  of  touch.  Even  the  air  or  any  gas 
may  be  felt,  if  brought  with  sufficient  force  against 
the  skin,  as  when  we  are  standing  against  a  breeze, 
or  moving  rapidly  through  a  still  atmosphere;  and 
instances  may  be  adduced  of  delicate  tactile  percep- 
tions by  means  of  the  pulse  of  the  air  on  the  face. 
Liquids  also,  in  so  far  as  they  can  press  against  the 
skin,  are  tangible.  In  virtue  of  the  law  which  requires 
change  or  contrast  of  excitement  in  order  to  sensation, 
a  jet  of  air  or  water  is  felt  with  special  ease,  as  a  spot 
of  light  or  colour  becomes  peculiarly  distinct  against  a 
dark  ground,  or  a  faint  tone  is  heard  most  clearly  amid 


*  Words  like  dextrous,  adroit,  vialadroit,  gauche,  point  to  the  more 
specific  connection  of  the  rlf?ht  hand  with  the  uses  of  practical  intelli- 
gence, though  its  superiority  consists  rather  in  its  prehensile  than  In 
Its  sensitive  power.  Extremely  divergent  views  on  the  source  of  this 
peculiarity  are  still  maintained.  Some  hold  that  It  Implies  merely  a 
degeneration  of  the  left  hand  from  comparative  disuse,  and  that  ambi- 
dexterity might  and  should  be  generally  cultivated.  The  science  of 
evolutionism,  however,  at  the  present  day  tends  to  look  upon  right- 
handedness  as  one  of  the  differentiations  naturally  arising  in  the  pro- 
cess of  evolution,  and  infers  that  Instances  of  lefthandedness  are  merely 
survivals  from  an  earlier  stage  of  the  process.  An  interesting  treat- 
ment of  the  subject,  In  its  historical  as  well  as  Its  scientific  aspect,  la 
Sir  Daniel  Wilson's  The  Jii(/ht  Hand:  Lefthandedness  (1891). 


50  PSYCHOLOGY 

a  profound  silence.  By  the  same  law,  when  any  part 
of  the  body  is  at  rest  in  water,  the  contact  of  the  water 
is  felt  only  along  the  line  of  its  surface,  as  the  continued 
even  pressure  of  a  solid  on  the  skin  is  felt  only  around 
the  edge.  Commonly,  however,  in  the  action  of  gases 
as  well  as  of  liquids  on  the  organ  of  touch,  their  tem- 
perature is  more  obtrusively  felt  than  their  contact. 
It  is,  therefore,  the  solid  condition  that  is  appropriate 
to  this  sense. 

(C)  It  is  an  often-quoted  saying  of  the  ancient 
philosopher  Democritus,  that  all  the  senses  are  merely 
modifications  of  touch;  and  there  is  a  certain  amount 
of  truth  in  the  statement,  inasmuch  as  the  special  senses 
are  all  normally  excited  by  the  impact  of  external  forces 
on  their  organs.  On  this  account  touch  is  sometimes 
spoken  of  as  the  primitive  sense  of  animal  life,  —  the 
rudimentary  type  out  of  which  all  the  other  senses  have 
been  evolved.  But  this  could  be  held  true  only  of  an 
indefinite  sensibility  to  the  contact  of  foreign  bodies, 
not  of  the  highly  specialised  touch  of  man.  It  has  long 
been  recognised  that  the  human  sense  called  by  this 
name  combines  several  forms  of  dermal  sensibility; 
and  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  science  to  define  with  pre- 
cision all  these  varieties.  Of  touch,  even  in  its  strictest 
definition,  the  sensations  are  various. 

I.  Perhaps  the  simplest  and  purest  form  of  touch 
is  that  in  which  a  body  is  felt  in  mere  contact  with 
the  skin,  without  exciting  any  sensation  of  positive 
pressure. 

II.  i^ext  to  this  are  the  sensations  which  depend  on 
different  degrees  of  pressure.  The  pressure  may  arise 
either  from  the  repulsion  of  the  particles  composing  a 


THE    SPECIAL    SE:^[SES  51 

body,  or  from  its  attraction  towards  the  centre  of  the 
earth.  On  the  sensations  thus  originated,  therefore,  is 
based  our  knowledge  of  the  comparative  hardness  and 
softness,  the  comparative  heaviness  and  lightness,  of 
bodies.  Here,  however,  touch  is  supplemented  by  the 
muscular  sense.  In  all  ordinary  instances  in  which  we 
feel  hardness  or  softness  we  squeeze  the  body  between 
the  fingers  so  as  to  discover  the  degree  of  resistance  it 
offers  to  the  muscular  effort  of  squeezing  it ;  commonly, 
also,  when  we  feel  the  w^eight  of  a  body,  we  try  how 
much  muscular  force  requires  to  be  exerted  by  the  hands 
or  arms  to  keep  it  from  being  dra^\Ti  to  the  earth.  Still 
the  touch  by  itself  can  feel  different  degrees  of  pressure. 
The  sensibility  to  minute  differences  of  pressure,  indeed, 
is  not,  as  we  shall  find  later  on,  so  fine  as  the  sensibility 
to  minute  distances  between  points;  yet  from  the  ex- 
periments of  Weber  it  would  appear  that  the  two  forms 
of  sensibility  show  a  corresponding  variation  on  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  skin. 

III.  The  last  form  of  tactile  sensibility  is  that  which 
implies  pressure  at  more  points  than  one.  From  this, 
as  will  afterwards  appear,  we  form  our  perception  of 
the  mutual  externality  of  different  points.  To  it  we  owe 
also  the  sensations  connected  with  smooth  and  rough 
surfaces:  for  if  a  number  of  points  simultaneously  in 
contact  with  the  skin  are  felt  to  be  absolutely  continu- 
ous, the  sensation  is  that  of  smoothness  or  fineness; 
whereas,  if  the  continuity  is  felt  to  be  broken  by  minute 
intervals  between  the  points,  the  sensation  is  that  of 
rough  or  coarse  touch.  In  these  sensations,  also,  touch 
is  usually  aided  by  the  muscular  sense,  by  rubbing  the 
finger-tips  over  the  tangible  surface. 


52  PSYCHOLOGY 

To  guard  against  misapprehension  it  should  be  ob- 
served that  these  three  forms  of  tactile  sensation,  though 
distinguishable  for  scientific  thought,  are  not  separated 
by  any  sharp  line  of  demarcation  in  actual  conscious- 
ness. It  is  important  also  to  give  attention  here  to  sev- 
eral other  sensations  which  are  apt  to  be  confounded 
with  touches,  inasmuch  as  they  are  located  on  the  skin, 
and  perhaps  even  the  nerves  of  touch  form  the  organ  of 
sensibility  in  the  case  of  some. 

1.  Among  the  most  prominent  of  these  are  those 
irritating  sensations  which  have  been  already  described 
as  pungent  tastes  and  odours, 

2.  Tickling  is  another  familiar  sensation  connected 
with  the  skin.  The  nervous  condition  upon  which  this 
feeling  depends  is  unknown,  and  therefore  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  w^hat  makes  one  part  of  the  skin  sensi- 
tive to  tickling  rather  than  others ;  but  it  may  be  observed 
that  the  most  sensitive  parts,  such  as  the  armpits  and 
the  soles  of  the  feet,  are  those  of  comparatively  obtuse 
tactile  sensibility.  As  a  phenomenon  in  consciousness, 
however,  the  sensation  is  very  distinctly  marked.  In  its 
milder  forms  it  constitutes  a  pleasurable  excitement; 
but  when  excessive  in  duration  or  intensity,  it  becomes 
more  or  less  intolerable.  In  all  forms  it  is  exciting,  and 
is  apt  to 'explode  in  spasmodic  actions,  such  as  a  sneeze 
or  an  hysterical  laugh. ^ 

3.  Another  cutaneous  sensation  of  an  irritating  char- 
acter is  itch,  which  is  also  clearly  defined  in  conscious- 
ness, whatever  may  be  its  nervous  cause. 

1  There  is  an  elaborate  treatment  of  tickling  by  Mr.  Sully  In  An 
Essay  on  Laughter,  its  Forms,  Causes,  Development  and  Value  (1903), 
pp.  50-64.  The  notes  also  contain  references  to  the  literature  of  the 
subject. 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  53 

4.  In  this  connection  ought  to  be  mentioned  the  sen- 
sation of  tingling,  which  is  popularly  described  by  say- 
ing that  a  limb  is  "  asleep.'' 

5.  Lastly,  the  sensation  of  the  temperature  of  the 
skin  must  likewise  be  distinguished  from  a  touch, 
properly  so  called. 

§  4.  —  Hearing. 

(A)  The  organ  of  hearing  is  perhaps  the  most  com- 
plicated structure  of  the  same  size  in  the  human  body. 
Only  its  most  general  features  can  or  need  be  noticed 
here.  It  is  divided  into  three  parts,  —  the  external,  the 
middle,  and  the  internal  ear. 

I.  The  external  ear  consists  of  two  parts:  (1)  the 
pinna,  that  is,  the  wing-like  structure  which  projects 
from  the  side  of  the  head,  and  the  convolutions  of  which 
seem  to  collect  the  vibrations  of  the  atmosphere  for 
transmission  into  (2)  the  meatus  auditorius,  the  passage 
by  which  these  vibrations  are  conveyed  to  the  interior 
of  the  organ. 

II.  The  middle  ear,  called  also  the  tympanum  or 
drum,  is  a  bony  cavity,  separated  from  the  auditory 
passage  by  a  membrane  —  the  memhrana  tympani  — 
and  communicating  with  the  mouth,  and  therefore  with 
the  external  atmosphere,  by  means  of  a  passage  called 
the  Eustachian  tube.  This  part  of  the  ear  contains  a 
chain  of  three  small  bones,  attached  at  one  end  to  the 
memhrana  tympani,  and  at  the  other  end  to  a  membrane, 
—  the  memhrana  vestihuliy  which  separates  the  middle 
from  the  internal  ear. 

III.  The  internal  ear  is  also  a  bony  cavity,  or  rather 
a  set  of  cavities,  so  complicated  in  structure  as  to  obtain 


54  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  name  of  labyrinth.  This  set  of  cavities  contains  a 
membranous  sac  —  the  membranous  labyrinth  —  sus- 
pended in  a  fluid,  and  attached  to  the  terminal  filaments 
of  the  auditory  nerve. 

The  ear  is  thus  an  organ  specially  adapted  to  be  sen- 
sitive to  minute  vibrations.  Vibratory  movements  in 
general,  and  especially  those  of  a  coarser  character,  are 
apt  to  communicate  themselves  to  all  elastic  bodies,  and 
may  thus  be  transmitted  through  the  atmosphere  to 
objects  at  a  considerable  distance.  Thus  a  discharge  of 
artillery  will  smash  glass  windows  and  shake  heavy 
masonry  in  the  neighbourhood,  while  its  shock  can  be 
distinctly  felt  by  the  general  sensibility  of  the  organism. 
The  rumble  of  a  waggon  passing  on  the  street  shakes  the 
ground  on  which  we  tread,  and  sends  a  tremor  through 
all  our  frame.  Even  the  finer  vibration  of  a  wire  in  a 
musical  instrument  may  shoot  a  thrill  through  the 
fingers,  or  through  other  parts  of  the  body,  by  which  the 
wire  is  touched.  Ordinarily  these  general  forms  of  sen- 
sibility to  vibratory  movement  are  scarcely  noticed,  be- 
cause the  special  sensations  of  hearing  are  so  much  more 
valuable.  But  to  the  deaf  such  substitutes  for  the  lost 
special  sense  are  often  welcome.  Laura  Bridgman,  who 
was  blind  as  well  as  deaf,  often  surprised  her  teachers 
by  the  readiness  with  which  she  could  perceive  the 
vibrations  of  audible  bodies  through  her  hands  or  even 
her  feet.-^  In  the  morning  she  knew  when  it  was  time 
to  rise  by  putting  her  finger  in  the  keyhole  of  a  door 

*  Life  and  Education  of  Laura  Bridgman,  by  Mrs.  Mary  Swift 
Lamson,  pp.  68-60,  75,  85,  109,  111,  133,  135,  209,  260.  Dr.  Kitto 
describes  with  great  vividness  his  almost  morbid  sensibility  to  these 
general  impressions  of  vibrations  on  the  organism.  See  the  chapter  on 
Percussions  in  The  Lost  Senses. 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  66 

beside  her  bed  and  ^^  feeling  "  the  vibration  caused  by 
the  other  girls  moving  aboiit.^  She  used  to  find  great 
enjoyment  in  a  musical  box  by  placing  it  on  a  chair 
with  her  feet  on  one  of  the  spars  and  thus  "  feeling  it 
play."  ^  She  even  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  the 
rhythm  of  a  vibration,  as  she  kept  time  to  it  herself.^ 

The  organism  in  general  is  thus  found  to  be  sensitive 
to  vibratory  movements;  but  this  sensibility  is  im- 
mensely increased  by  being  specialised  in  a  particular 
organ  differentiated  for  this  function  from  the  rest  of 
the  organism.  The  essential  part  of  this  special  organ  is 
evidently  the  internal  ear.  The  sensibility  of  the  audi- 
tory nerve  can  be  excited  by  merely  agitating  the  fluid 
with  which  this  part  is  filled,  and  thus  throwing  into 
vibration  the  minute  nerve-threads  which  are  suspended 
in  the  fluid.  Thus  a  person  deaf  to  all  ordinary  sounds 
may  be  made  to  feel,  not  merely  the  general  thrill  of  a 
vibratory  movement,  but  veritable  sensations  of  hearing, 
by  vibrations  conveyed  to  the  labyrinth  from  the  bones 
of  the  head.  A  young  Scotch  lad,  named  James  Mitchell, 
a  blind  deaf-mute  like  Laura  Bridgman,  showed  in  his 
childhood  "  an  eager  desire  to  strike  upon  his  foreteeth 
anything  he  could  get  hold  of;  this  he  would  do  for 
hours,  and  seemed  particularly  gratified  if  it  was  a  key, 
or  any  instrument  that  gave  a  sharp  sound  when  struck 
against  his  teeth."  *  In  like  manner,  an  ordinary  sound 
may  be  intensified,  if  it  is  conveyed  to  the  internal  ear, 
not  only  by  the  ordinary  channel  of  the  external  and 

*  Life  and  Education  of  Laura  Bridgman,  p,  191. 
2  Ibid.,  p.  331. 

»  Ibid.,  p.  22r>. 

*  Stewart's  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Vol.  III., 
p.  313  (Hamilton's  ed.),  where  au  elaborate  account  of  Mitchell  will  be 
found. 


56  PSYCHOLOGY 

middle  ears,  but  by  vibrations  in  the  bones  of  the  head. 
Thus  if  a  watch,  whose  tick  at  the  distance  of  a  few 
inches  may  be  scarcely  perceptible,  is  pressed  against  the 
ear  or  placed  between  the  teeth,  the  movement  of  every 
wheel  seems  to  become  audible.  Other  familiar  facts 
illustrating  this  intensification  of  sound  will  readily 
occur  to  any  one's  mind. 

But  the  ordinary  mode  in  which  the  sensibility  of  the 
ear  is  excited  is  by  vibrations  of  the  atmosphere  carried 
through  the  auditory  passage  and  the  tympanum  into 
the  labyrinth. 

(B)  A  sonorous  body  is  any  form  of  matter  which  is 
capable  of  exciting  atmospheric  vibrations.  This  prop- 
erty of  bodies,  as  well  as  the  collateral  property  of  trans- 
mitting atmospheric  vibrations,  forms  the  subject  of 
the  physical  science  of  Acoustics.  From  that  science,  as 
well  as  from  the  theory  of  music,  the  student  of  psychol- 
ogy will  often  find  material  assistance  in  studying  the 
mental  phenomena  of  hearing.  Such  data  of  these 
sciences  as  are  required  to  explain  mental  phenomena 
will  be  noticed  in  their  proper  place ;  but  the  student  is 
referred,  for  fuller  information,  to  the  most  important 
work  on  the  subject  in  modern  times,  Helmholtz's  Lehre 
von  den  Tonempfindungen} 

(C)  Sound  is  the  general  name  applied  to  all  sensa- 
tions of  hearing.  Like  other  sensations,  sounds  vary  in 
intensity,  the  intensity  of  a  sound  being  what  we  famil- 
iarly call  its  comparative  loudness.  This  property  of 
sounds  depends  on  the  breadth  or  amplitude  of  the 
vibrations  by  which  they  are  produced.     If  you  take  a 

^  On  the  Sensations  of  Tone,  as  a  Physiological  Basis  for  the  Theory 
of  Music,  by  H.  Helmholtz,  M.D.  Translated,  with  Additional  Notes 
and  an  Additional  Appendix,  by  Alexander  Ellis,  B.A.     London,  1875. 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  67 

string  in  a  musical  instrument  and  pull  it  to  one  side, 
on  letting  it  go  it  rebounds  to  the  opposite  side,  and  con- 
tinues to  swing  for  a  while  with  a  gradually  decreasing 
breadth  of  movement.  It  will  be  observed  that  with  the 
decrease  in  the  breadth  of  the  movement  there  is  a  cor- 
responding decrease  in  the  loudness  of  the  sound  pro- 
duced. This  explains,  among  other  phenomena,  the 
familiar  fact  that  a  sound  proceeding  from  a  distant 
body  is  fainter  than  when  produced  near  at  hand;  for 
the  sound-waves  in  the  atmosphere,  like  the  waves  on 
the  surface  of  water,  diminish  in  breadth  the  farther 
they  travel. 

Besides  the  physical  condition  of  intensity,  there  is 
also  an  organic  condition.  It  depends  on  the  tension 
of  the  membrane  of  the  drum;  for  the  membrane  will 
evidently  be  agitated  less,  the  more  its  tension  is  in- 
creased. Any  cause,  therefore,  like  yawTiing,  or  blowing 
the  nose,  which  increases  the  tension  of  this  membrane, 
deadens  sounds.  This  effect  is  specially  observable  on 
sounds  of  a  grave  character,  which  are  produced  by  long 
slow  vibrations,  though  it  may  be  scarcely  noticed  in  the 
case  of  shrill  sounds,  that  is,  those  that  are  produced  by 
short  rapid  vibrations.  JN'ow  the  tension  of  the  mem- 
brane in  question  is  regulated  by  two  muscles,  —  the 
tensor  tympani  and  the  stapedius,  —  and  by  the  sensi- 
bility residing  in  these  muscles  we  must  feel  to  what 
extent  the  membrane  is  tightened  or  slackened  before 
we  can  be  aware  of  the  intensity  of  a  sound.  In  being 
conscious  therefore  of  loudness  or  faintness,  it  would 
seem  that  muscular  as  well  as  auditory  sensibility  is 
called  into  play. 

While  sounds  vary  by  this  general  difference  of  in- 


58  PSYCHOLOGY 

tensity,  they  are  distinguishable  into  two  classes  by 
another  very  marked  difference.  The  one  class  are 
called  tones  or  musical  sounds ;  the  other,  noises  or  un- 
musical sounds.  The  former  are  produced  by  isochro- 
nous (equal-timed)  vibrations,  that  is,  by  vibrations 
which  are  equal  in  number  in  equal  times.  If,  for  ex- 
ample, a  tone  produced  by  500  vibrations  in  a  second 
were  prolonged  for  any  length  of  time,  it  would  con- 
tinue, during  every  subsequent  second,  to  be  produced 
by  precisely  the  same  number  of  vibrations.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  vibrations  producing  a  noise  are  desti- 
tute of  any  similar  periodicity. 

]^ow  tones  vary,  not  only  in  the  general  property  of 
intensity,  but  in  a  special  property  termed  pitch.  There 
is  another  property  which  constitutes  a  difference  among 
tones.  It  is  commonly  called  quality;  but  on  its  ulti- 
mate analysis  it  will  be  found  to  be  a  modification  of 
pitch.  These  two  properties  of  tones  we  shall  now 
examine. 

1.  The  pitch  of  a  tone  is  its  position  in  the  musical 
scale,  and  this  is  determined  by  the  rapidity  of  the 
vibrations  producing  it.  The  more  numerous  the  vibra- 
tions caused  by  a  sonorous  body  in  a  given  time,  the 
higher  is  the  pitch  of  the  tone  produced.  Tones  may 
therefore  be  varied  in  pitch  by  an  insensible  gradation, 
so  that  they  are  not  separated  by  an  absolute  distinction. 
But  from  very  early  times  a  scale  has  been  formed  in 
which  different  tones  hold  a  fixed  position  in  relation 
to  one  another.  This  scale  starts  from  the  fact  that 
there  is  an  easily  recognisable  interval  between  tones 
when  one  results  from  twice  the  number  of  the  vibra- 
tions producing  the  other.     Such  an  interval  is  called 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  59 

an  octave  because  the  tone  at  one  extreme  is  eighth 
from  the  other.  The  musical  scale,  therefore,  is  com- 
posed of  seven  tones,  which  repeat  themselves  in  ever 
ascending  octaves.  The  intervals  between  the  several 
parts  of  the  octave  are  not  all  the  same,  but  the  nature 
of  the  interval  in  each  case  is  a  subject  which  must  be 
left  for  the  Theory  of  Music.  The  larger  intervals  are 
called  tones;  the  smaller,  semi-tones;  but  these  terms 
want  precise  definition,  as  a  tone  is  not  necessarily 
equal  to  two  semi-tones,  except  in  instruments  tuned 
on  a  peculiar  principle.  Some  people,  again,  like  the 
Arabs,  use  even  quarter-tones  in  their  music. 

The  compass  of  the  ear's  sensibility  to  pitch  may  be 
roughly  estimated  as  extending  over  seven  octaves,  the 
lowest  tone  being  produced  by  about  40  vibrations  in  a 
second,  the  highest  by  about  4,000.  The  seven-octave 
piano  goes  down  to  A  of  27^/^  vibrations,  and  on  larger 
organs  there  is  even  a  C  of  16%  vibrations;  but  when 
these  low  notes  are  struck  by  themselves,  a  succession 
of  separate  pulses  is  heard  rather  than  a  single  tone. 
These  notes  are  accordingly  used  always  in  combina- 
tion with  notes  an  octave  above,  which  have  the  effect 
of  fusing  their  vibrations  into  one  tone.  In  the  ascend- 
ing scale  the  seven-octave  piano  stops  at  A  of  3,520 
vibrations;  but  notes  as  high  as  would  be  represented 
by  about  38,000  vibrations  in  a  second  can  be  detected 
by  the  ear,  though  with  difficulty.  Such  higher  notes, 
however,  are  too  painfully  shrill  to  be  of  use  for  musical 
purposes,  but  if  we  take  them  into  account,  the  compass 
of  the  ear  embraces  about  eleven  octaves.  It  may  be 
added  that  the  upper  limit  of  the  compass  varies  con- 
siderably for  different  ears.^ 

*  See  the  experiments  of  Galton  In  his  Human  faculty,  pp.  38-40, 


60  PSYCHOLOGY 

2.  There  is  another  property  of  tones  commonly 
called  in  English  by  the  somewhat  indefinite  term 
quality.  For  gi*eater  definiteness  the  French  timbre  is 
occasionally  employed  for  quality,  and  some  recent 
writers  have  adopted  the  term  clang-tint  as  a  translation 
of  the  German  klangfarhe.  By  quality  is  meant  the 
peculiarity  that  a  tone  receives  from  the  instrument  by 
which  it  is  produced.  If  a  tone  of  a  certain  pitch 
and  intensity  is  produced  by  several  instruments  of 
different  sorts  in  succession,  notwithstanding  the  same- 
ness of  pitch  and  intensity,  a  difference  can  be  detected 
in  the  different  renderings  of  the  tone.  This  difference 
arises  partly  from  causes  extrinsic  to  the  tone,  such  as 
the  stroke  of  fingers  or  hammers,  or  the  rush  of  wind. 
But  after  eliminating  all  such  extrinsic  circumstances, 
there  remains  a  certain  peculiarity,  intrinsic  to  the 
tone  itself,  and  distinctive  of  the  instrument  by  which 
it  is  produced.  It  is  this  intrinsic  peculiarity  in  the 
tone  of  an  instrmuent  that  is  understood  by  its  quality. 

In  explanation  of  this  peculiarity  the  fact  has  been 
observed  that  tones  are  usually  composite.  There  can 
be  detected  in  them  not  only  a  prominent  fundamental 
tone  which  gives  its  character  to  the  whole,  but  a  series 
of  fainter  tones  occupying  a  higher  position  on  the 
musical  scale.  These  overtones  stand  in  a  definite  ratio 
to  the  fundamental  tone,  the  first  being  produced  by 
twice  the  number  of  the  vibrations  producing  that  tone, 
the  second  by  thrice,  the  third  by  four  times  that  num- 
ber, and  so  on  by  an  uniformly  increasing  multiple, 
l^ow  there  are  a  few  tones,  like  that  of  a  tuning-fork, 
which  possess  an  apparent  simplicity,  though  there  is 
ground  for  questioning  whether  even  these  are  abso- 


THE    SPECIAL    SEXSES  61 

lutelj  unaccompanied  bj  overtones;  but  the  rule  is, 
that  tones  exhibit  this  composite  character.  It  is  fur- 
ther observed  that  the  tones  of  one  instrument  are  ac- 
companied by  overtones  which  cannot  be  detected  in 
those  of  another ;  and  the  conclusion  has  therefore  been 
dra^vn  that  the  quality  of  the  tone  is  determined  by 
its  accompanying  overtones.  The  same  fact  is  also  ex- 
pressed by  saying  that  the  quality  of  a  tone  depends 
on  the  form  of  its  vibrations;  for  the  atmospheric 
waves  representing  its  overtones  must  modify  the  form 
of  the  wave  representing  the  fundamental  tone. 

It  is  worth  adding  that,  owing  to  their  comparative 
faintness,  overtones  are  apt  at  a  distance  to  vanish  from 
hearing,  and  then  music  loses  its  distinctive  quality, 
assuming  the  character  of  pure  tones.  In  like  manner 
part  of  the  musical  effects  of  a  large  orchestra  arises 
from  the  different  instruments  tending  to  neutralise 
or  modify  the  qualities  of  one  another. 

§  5.  —  Sight. 

(A)  The  organ  of  this  sense  can  be  more  easily 
described  than  the  ear.  The  eye  is  a  ball,  nearly 
spherical  in  shape,  the  interior  of  which  forms  a  dark 
chamber  like  the  photographer's  camera  ohscura.  The 
only  aperture  by  which  light  can  find  admittance  into 
this  chamber  is  the  pupil,  which  shows  like  a  black  spot 
in  consequence  of  the  intense  darkness  of  the  interior. 
This  darkness  is  owing  to  a  black  pigment  in  the  in- 
ternal lining  of  the  eye;  otherwise  the  interior  is  per- 
fectly pervious  to  light,  being  filled  with  transparent 
humours.      Of  these   humours   the   most   important   is 


62  PSYCHOLOGY 

called  khe  crystalline  lens.  It  lies  directly  behind  the 
pupil,  so  that  it  refracts  every  ray  of  light  that  enters 
the  eye.  Being  a  convexo-convex  lens,  it  brings  to  a 
focus  the  rays  of  light  radiating  from  objects  in  front 
of  the  pupil,  and  thus  forms  an  image  of  these  objects 
on  the  internal  coat  of  the  eye.  This  coat  is  called  the 
retina  because  it  is  mainly  a  network  of  minute  fibres 
from  the  optic  nerve.  These  nerve-fibres  are  excited 
by  the  rays  of  light  converging  upon  them,  and  visual 
sensation  is  the  result.  But  while  the  retina  in  general 
is  sensitive  to  light,  its  sensibility  is  specially  acute  on 
a  minute  spot  at  its  centre.  As  the  retina  here  is  pecu- 
liarly thin,  the  spot  shows  like  a  slight  depression,  and 
is  therefore  knoTv^i  as  the  fovea  centralis,  while  its 
colour  has  given  it  the  name  of  the  yellow  spot.  When 
the  eyes  are  fixed  upon  any  object,  the  rays  of  light 
coming  from  it  fall  upon  this  sensitive  point. 

The  adjustment  of  the  eyes  upon  an  object  is  con- 
trolled by  an  elaborate  set  of  muscles,  which  impart  to 
them  their  extreme  mobility.  In  consequence  of  the 
muscular  sensibility  thus  added  to  its  own  special  sen- 
sibility, the  value  of  the  eye,  as  an  organ  of  sense,  is 
immensely  increased;  while  its  charm  as  an  expressive 
feature  of  the  face  is  largely  due  either  to  the  quick- 
ness of  its  glance  or  to  a  calm,  clear,  searching  look 
fixed  by  the  steadying  power  of  its  muscles. 

(B)  The  agent,  therefore,  in  visual  sensation  is  light, 
—  that  is,  light  considered  as  a  physical  fact,  not  as  a 
fact  of  consciousness.  Physically  considered,  light  is 
conjectured  to  be  an  inconceivably  rapid  vibration  of 
an  elastic  ether  diffused  throughout  space.  Light  is 
either  original  or  reflected.    In  the  former  case  it  origi- 


THE    SPECIAL    SEXSES  63 

nates  in  the  body  from  which  it  comes  to  the  eye,  as  in 
the  sun  and  in  terrestrial  bodies  at  a  high  temperature. 
In  the  latter  case  the  body  which  throws  light  on 
the  eye  derives  it,  mediately  or  immediately,  from 
some  original  source  of  light.  The  light  which  is  thus 
reflected  by  a  body  does  not  always  render  the  body 
visible.  If  the  body  is  a  mirror,  and  the  mirror  is 
perfect,  it  reveals,  not  itself,  but  the  objects  in  front 
which  throw  on  it  their  original  or  reflected  light. 
Except  in  the  case  of  mirrors,  reflection  makes  the  re- 
flecting body  itself  visible.  In  order  to  visibility  a 
body  must  be  more  or  less  opaque.  A  perfectly  trans- 
parent substance,  allowing  all  the  light  which  falls  on 
it  to  pass  through  it,  reflects  none  to  the  eye;  so  that 
it  fails  to  stimulate  the  sensibility  of  the  retina,  and 
no  vision  takes  place. 

(C)  The  sensations  of  sight  are  those  of  pure  light 
and  of  colour. 

I.  As  a  phenomenon  in  consciousness  pure  light 
appears  simple,  though  its  physical  cause  may  in  a 
certain  sense  be  said  to  be  composite:  it  may  be  de- 
composed by  a  prism  into  the  colours  of  the  spectrum; 
and  these  colours,  by  being  combined,  produce  again 
the  single  sensation  of  pure  or  white  light. 

II.  Colours  admit  of  an  indefinite  variety  of  modi- 
fication; but  their  variations  run  along  either  of  two 
lines,  tone  and  depth. 

1.  Tone  is  the  name  given  to  the  position  of  a  colour 
on  the  spectrum  or  rainbow.  If  a  sunbeam  is  made  to 
pass  through  a  prism,  and  caught  by  the  eye  or  thrown 
on  to  a  screen,  it  may  be  observed  that  it  is  broken  up 
into  a  bar  of  variegated  hues:   this  bar  is  technically 


64  PSYCHOLOGY 

called  a  spectrum.  On  careful  observation  it  is  found 
that  even  though  there  are  occasional  dark  lines  crossing 
the  bar,  its  hues  merge  imperceptibly  into  each  other; 
but  the  extreme  points  are  seen  to  be  occupied  by  a  line 
of  red  and  a  line  of  violet,  while  a  green  line  distin- 
guishes the  centre.  Between  the  red  and  the  green  two 
prominent  types  of  colour  may  be  marked,  —  an  orange 
and  a  yellow.  At  the  other  end  indigo  and  blue  lie 
between  the  violet  and  the  green.  The  spectrum  is 
therefore  commonly  divided  into  seven  parts,  —  red, 
orange,  yellow,  green,  blue,  indigo,  violet.  But  the 
colours  red,  green,  and  violet,  occupying  the  three 
most  prominent  places  on  the  spectrum,  —  its  centre 
and  its  tAvo  extremities,  —  are  distinguished  by  the 
name  primary.  The  four  intermediate  colours,  orange 
and  yellow,  blue  and  indigo,  which  can  be  produced 
by  combinations  of  the  primary  colours,  are  called 
secondary.^ 

The  division  of  the  spectrum  into  seven  tints  has,  not 
unnaturally,  led  to  some  ingenious  speculations  aiming 

^  It  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  sensibility  to  colour  as  well  as 
to  pure  light  is  most  acute  on  the  yellow  spot.  The  farther  a  coloured 
impression  on  the  retina  is  removed  from  this  point,  the  less  distinct 
is  the  sensation  of  colour  excited  ;  and  all  round  its  margin  the  retina 
Is  insensitive  to  colour,  so  that  objects  on  the  edge  of  the  field  of 
vision  are  seen  in  a  colourless  light.  This  colour-blindness,  which 
attaches  only  to  part  of  the  retina  in  a  normal  eye,  is  found  In  some 
eyes  to  be  a  defect  of  the  whole  retina.  In  some  cases  the  colour- 
blindness is  total,  when  the  defective  eye  sees  all  objects,  whatever 
their  colour  may  be,  only  in  light  and  shade,  in  white  and  black.  In 
other  cases  the  colour-blindness  is  partial,  involving  insensibility  only 
to  certain  types  of  colour.  This  form  of  colour-blindness  exhibits  some 
curious  varieties  that  are  not  easily  explained.  The  whole  subject  is 
not  only  of  scientific  interest,  but  of  practical  importance  as  well, 
especially  in  occupations  which  require  the  use  of  coloured  signals  or 
the  discrimination  of  colours  in  the  commodities  of  trade.  In  the  Inter- 
national Scientific  Series  there  is  a  monograph  on  Colour-Blindness 
and  Colour-Perception  by  Dr.  Edridge-Green.  Jodl  (Lehrhuch  der  Psy- 
chologic, p.  364)  mentions  a  number  of  German  works  on  the  subject. 


THE    SPECIAL    SE:N^SES  65 

at  the  establishment  of  an  analogy  between  the  so-called 
tones  of  colour  and  the  seven  tones  on  the  musical  scale. 
Whatever  success  may  ultimately  attend  speculations  of 
that  drift,  it  is  certain  that  even  yet  science  is  far  from 
a  fixed  definition  of  the  different  colours,  such  as  was 
reached  long  ago  in  the  distinction  of  musical  tones. 
In  recent  times,  indeed,  attempts  have  been  made  by 
physicists  to  establish  a  scientific  nomenclature  of 
colours  by  dividing  the  spectrum  into  definite  parts 
and  assigning  a  specific  colour-name  to  each.  But  the 
common  names  of  colours  in  all  languages  are  applied 
with  that  vagueness  which  might  be  expected  from  the 
fact  that  there  is  no  absolute  line  of  demarcation  be- 
tween the  different  tints  on  the  spectrum.  This 
vagueness  may  be  due  also  to  the  circumstance  that 
colour-names  in  general  seem  to  have  been  originally 
the  names  of  familiar  objects  which  naturally  display 
certain  colours,^  while  these  colours,  like  that  of  the 
sea,  for  example,  are  apt,  under  various  natural  influ- 
ences, to  modify  their  tone  considerably  from  hour  to 
hour,  from  day  to  day,  and  from  one  season  of  the  year 
to  another.  The  common  names  of  colours  must  there- 
fore be  interpreted  as  covering  each  a  considerable 
breadth  on  the  spectrum,  and  as  applicable  in  conse- 
quence to  a  considerable  variety  of  tints.  Accordingly 
it  is  not  a  matter  for  surprise  that  colour-names  should 
occasionally  be  employed  with  such  latitude  that  they 
seem  to  be  tossed  at  random  over  all  sorts  of  natural 

^  This  etymology  is  illustrated  at  lenpth  In  Mr.  Grant  Allen's 
Colour-Sense,  Chap.  XIII.  But  the  theory  is  perhaps  too  sweeplngly 
stated.  It  seems  an  accepted  doctrine  among  philologists  that  word- 
roots  primitively  express  an  impression  of  sense  ;  and  It  remains  still 
to  be  made  out  that  in  no  instance  has  a  colour  been  the  attribute 
primarily  determining  a  name. 

6 


6Q  PSYCHOLOGY 

phenomena.  This  want  of  exactness  in  the  designa- 
tion of  colours  forms  the  sole  j^lausible  ground  for  a 
recent  hypothesis  that  the  sensibility  to  differences  of 
colour,  so  far  from  being  a  possession  of  the  lower 
animals  or  of  primitive  man,  has  been  developed  in  the 
human  race  within  comparatively  recent  times. ^  The 
hypothesis,  however,  vanishes  before  a  critical  exegesis 
of  the  ancient  authors  in  light  of  the  fact  that  in  con- 
sequence of  the  imperceptible  gradation  of  the  colours 
on  the  spectrum  their  names  must  be  employed  with  a 
considerable  latitude.^ 

The  problem  of  the  difference  of  colour  presents  a 
physical  and  a  physiological  as  well  as  a  psychological 
aspect,  (a)  So  far  as  it  concerns  physics,  the  problem 
is  solved  by  an  application  of  the  j)hysical  theory  of 
light.  On  that  theory,  as  already  explained,  light  is 
conceived  to  be  the  vibration  of  an  ethereal  form  of 
matter  diffused  throughout  space;  and  the  difference 
of  colours  is  conceived  as  due  to  the  varying  velocities  of 
the  ethereal  vibrations.  At  the  red  end  of  the  spectrum 
it  is  calculated  that  the  light-waves  amount  to  451  bil- 
lions in  a  second,  while  with  increasing  velocity  they 
produce  the  other  colours,  till  they  attain  the  number  of 
785  billions  in  a  second  at  the  highest  limit  of  vision, 
where  the  violet  rays  appear,  (h)  The  problem  of  the 
physiologist  is  to  explain  the  effect  of  light  on  the  organ 
of  vision  in  such  a  way  as  may  account  for  the  various 
sensations  of  colour.  Here,  hoAvever,  science  has  not 
yet  attained  the  general  agreement  which  prevails  in 

1  See  Geiger's  Zur  Entwickelungsgeschichte  der  Menschheit,  III.,  and 
an  article  by  Mr.  Gladstone  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  for  October,  1877. 

'  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  work  on  the  Colour-Sense  is  largely  occupied 
with  a  criticism  of  this  hypothesis. 


THE    SPECIAL    SENSES  67 

regard  to  the  physical  source  of  the  difference  in 
colours.  One  theory  maintains  that  the  physiological 
explanation  of  this  difference  is  to  be  found,  not  in  a 
functional  variation,  but  in  organic  structure.  The 
conjecture  is,  that  the  terminal  filaments  of  the  optic 
nerve,  which  go  to  form  the  retina,  are  of  three  kinds 
at  least,  corresponding  to  the  three  primary  colours, 
and  that  each  set  of  retinal  fibres  reacts  only  under  the 
impulse  of  the  colour-rays  to  which  it  is  adapted.  This 
theory  was  suggested  long  ago  by  Young,  and  has  been 
extensively  adopted  in  recent  times,  especially  under 
the  infiuence  of  Helmholtz;  but  it  meets  with  opposi- 
tion from  physiologists  so  eminent  as  Wundt.  The 
psychologist  must  therefore  wait  for  further  advance 
in  the  physiology  of  vision  before  he  can  make  use  of 
any  facts  connected  with  the  organic  action  of  light  to 
explain  the  difference  of  colours.  (c)  With  regard 
to  the  psychological  aspect  of  this  difference  more  will 
be  said  in  the  sequel,  w^hen  illustrating  the  function 
which  colours  perform  in  developing  our  mental  life. 
Suffice  it  to  observe  at  present  a  fact,  the  import  of 
which  will  afterwards  appear,  that  the  colours  at  the 
red  end  of  the  spectrum  belong  to  the  exciting  class  of 
sensations,  whereas  they  acquire  a  calmer  tone  as  we 
pass  towards  the  opposite  end. 

2.  A  second  variation  of  colours  arises  from  their 
depth.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  term  intensity  has 
been  applied  to  the  depth  of  colours;  for  this  term,  as 
already  explained,  is  the  universally  recognised  tech- 
nical expression  for  the  force  with  which  a  sensation 
obtrudes  itself  in  consciousness.  Like  all  sensations, 
those  of  sight  vary  in  intensity,  as  a  matter  of  course; 


68  PSYCHOLOGY 

and  of  these  variations  an  exact  measurement  is  at- 
tempted in  different  ways  by  means  of  the  various 
instruments  to  which  the  name  photometer  is  applied. 
But  what  is  meant  by  depth  of  colour  is  that  pecul- 
iarity which  is  sometimes  expressed  by  speaking  of 
one  tint  as  darker  or  lighter  than  another.  These  ex- 
pressions indicate  the  source  of  this  peculiarity.  It 
arises  from  colours  being  diluted  with  pure  light  in 
different  degrees.  Thus  a  dark  blue  is  comparatively 
undiluted,  while  a  light  blue  is  comparatively  diluted, 
with  pure  or  white  light. 

For  further  information  on  all  subjects  connected 
with  vision,  the  student  is  referred  to  another  great 
work  of  Helmholtz,  Handbuch  der  Physiologischen 
Optik, 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    GENERAL    SENSES. 

THE  various  forms  of  the  general  sensibility,  which 
have  been  named  in  an  earlier  chapter  ^  the  gen- 
eral senses,  were  there  distinguished  from  the  special 
by  the  circumstance  that  they  have  no  organs  specially 
adapted  for  the  production  of  their  sensations.  Their 
organs  are  simply  the  organs  of  the  body  in  general, 
in  which  the  ramifications  of  the  nerve-fibres  are  dis- 
tributed. These  organs  are  primarily  adapted  to  the 
lower  functions  of  animal  life ;  but  in  subserving  these 
functions  they  give  rise  to  the  higher  function  of  sen- 
sation, and  thereby  become  organs  of  sense.  In  con- 
sequence of  this  the  classification  of  general  sensations 
is  beset  by  a  difiiculty  which  is  scarcely  felt  in  the  case 
of  special  sensations.  It  is  true,  as  was  shown  above 
in  several  instances,  the  unscientific  consciousness  oc- 
casionally confounds  the  sensations  of  different  special 
senses;  but,  as  a  rule,  these  sensations  can  be  readily 
distinguished  and  referred  to  the  organs  from  the  affec- 
tions of  which  they  arise.  It  is  not  so,  however,  with 
the  general  sensations.  They  are  often  so  obscure  in 
their  nature  that  they  can  neither  be  clearly  distin- 
guished in  consciousness  nor  precisely  localised  in  the 
organism.  This,  in  fact,  is  no  slight  cause  of  the  diffi- 
culty a  physician  experiences  in  forming  a  satisfactory 

»  Chap.  I.,  §  1. 


^' 


0  PSYCHOLOGY 


diagnosis  of  a  disease.  The  sensations  of  disease  arc 
connected  mainly  with  the  general  sensibility.  The 
patient  commonly  feels  but  a  vague  uneasiness,  which 
he  is  unable  to  describe  or  localise;  and  fortunate  will 
it  be  if  he  does  not  mislead  his  medical  adviser  by  an 
illusory  description  of  its  nature  and  locality.  In  con- 
sequence of  the  characteristic  vagueness  of  these  sen- 
sations it  will  be  found  that  they  possess  in  general 
comparatively  little  value  as  sources  of  knowledge;  it 
is  as  sources  of  feeling  —  of  our  pleasures  and  pains 
—  that  they  are  most  obtrusive  in  consciousness. 

In  the  absence  of  that  clear  definition  which  is 
necessary  to  a  scientific  classification  of  the  general 
sensations,  we  must  perhaps  content  ourselves  with  a 
provisional  enumeration  of  their  principal  varieties. 
But  even  in  such  an  enumeration  we  must  be  guided 
by  the  principle  which  governs  the  classification  of  the 
special  sensations,  —  we  must  follow  the  distinction  of 
the  bodily  organs,  keeping  in  view  at  the  same  time  the 
conscious  distinction  of  the  sensations  excited.  For 
the  purpose  of  reducing  to  some  sort  of  order  the  com- 
plex variety  of  phenomena  to  be  enumerated,  it  may 
be  convenient  to  separate  them  into  two  groups.  For 
some  of  the  general  sensations  approach  more  nearly 
the  character  of  special  sensations,  inasmuch  as  they 
arise  from  the  action  of  a  particular  organ  or  set  of 
organs.  Such,  for  example,  are  the  muscular  and  the 
alimentary  sensations,  which  are  excited  respectively 
by  the  action  of  the  muscles  and  of  the  alimentary 
canal.  Others,  again,  like  the  sense  of  temperature, 
instead  of  being  limited  to  a  single  organ,  are  dis- 
tributed more  or  less  over  the  whole  sentient  organism; 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  71 

and  these  may  with  some  propriety  be  regarded  as  gen- 
eral sensations  in  the  most  restricted  meaning  of  the 
term. 

§  1.  —  General  Sensations  connected  with  One  Organ. 

Of  this  class  the  feelings  derived  from  the  exercise 
of  the  muscles  are  in  many  respects  by  far  the  most 
important;  the  muscular  sense  may,  in  fact,  claim  the 
rank  of  a  sixth  special  sense.  We  shall  accordingly 
treat  it  with  the  same  detail  as  the  special  senses. 

i.  —  The  Muscular  Sense. 

In  earlier  times  this  form  of  sensibility  was  usually 
confounded  with  touch.  It  is  true  that  as  far  back  as 
the  seventeenth  century  ^  some  writers  had  recognised 
the  fact  that  certain  feelings,  such  as  weight,  com- 
monly ascribed  to  touch,  must  be  due  to  a  totally  dif- 
ferent sense ;  yet  it  was  not  till  a  comparatively  recent 
date  that  the  distinction  of  muscular  sensibility  was 
generally  accepted  in  psychology. 

Even  at  the  present  day  there  is  considerable  varia- 
tion of  opinion  among  physiologists  as  to  the  precise 
nature  of  the  organic  process  in  muscular  feeling.  The 
various  opinions  on  the  subject  may  be  conveniently 
ranged  under  three  heads.  There  are  those  who  find 
in  the  nerve-fibres  that  are  imbedded  among  the  mus- 
cular tissues  a  special  apparatus  of  sensation,  affording 

*  A  history  of  the  discovery  of  this  sense  Is  given  in  a  learned 
and  interesting  note  by  Sir  William  Hamilton,  in  his  edition  of  Keld's 
Works,  p.  867.  For  more  recent  doctrines  on  the  subject,  see  Wundt'a 
Physiologiache  Psychologic,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  370-378  (2d  ed.)  ;  James's 
Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  189-202 ;  Jodl's  Lehrbuch  der 
Paychologie,  pp.  244-250. 


72  PSYCHOLOGY 

a  sufficient  physiological  explanation  of  the  feelings  of 
muscular  exertion.  Others,  again,  refuse  to  ascrihe  any 
independent  sensibility  to  the  muscles;  and  they  ex- 
plain the  feelings  excited  by  muscular  action  as  being 
due  either  to  a  peripheral  cause,  such  as  the  resulting 
movement  of  the  skin  and  adjacent  tissues,  or  to  a 
central  stimulus,  —  the  stimulus  of  the  brain  implied 
in  volitional  effort.  Perhaps  a  complete  physiological 
explanation  will  accept  something  from  each  of  these 
theories.  By  this  mode  of  reconciling  the  divergent 
opinions,  a  distinct  organ  of  sensibility  is  recognised 
in  the  structure  of  the  muscles,  while  it  is  admitted, 
as  it  may  be  in  the  case  of  all  the  senses,  that  sensa- 
tions excited  by  this  organ  may  be  associated  with  other 
sensations  excited  at  the  same  time,  and  that  the  result- 
ing consciousness  may  be  a  fusion  of  various  coexistent 
sensations.  But  the  psychology  of  muscular  sensibility 
is  not  called  to  decide  between  rival  physiological  the- 
ories on  the  subject;  it  postulates  as  its  data  merely 
certain  distinguishable  forms  of  sensation  connected 
with  the  action  of  the  muscles. 

(A)  The  special  organ,  then,  of  the  muscular  sense 
is  the  muscular  tissues.  These  are,  both  in  an  anatom- 
ical and  in  a  psychological  point  of  view,  of  two 
kinds.  In  anatomical  structure  some  are  distinguished 
by  minute  transverse  bars  or  stripes,  for  which  they  are 
said  to  be  stripedy  while  others  are  called  the  unstriped 
muscles,  owing  to  the  absence  of  this  feature.  Again, 
some  muscles  are  under  the  control  of  the  will,  and  are 
therefore  named  voluntary,  while  others  are  distin- 
guished as  involuntary  in  consequence  of  their  being 
beyond  the  will's  control.     I^ow  the  voluntary  muscles 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  73 

are  all  striped,  and  the  unstriped  are  all  involuntary; 
but  a  few  involuntary  muscles,  such  as  those  of  the 
heart,  are  striped.^ 

It  is  the  voluntary  muscles  that  form  the  organ  of 
muscular  sensation  proper.  These  muscles  are  supplied 
both  with  afferent  and  with  efferent  nerves,  so  that  in 
their  structure  they  exhibit  all  the  features  necessary  to 
an  organ  of  sense. 

(B)  In  regard  to  the  agency  by  which  the  muscular 
sense  is  excited,  it  differs  from  the  special  senses  in 
their  normal  action.  We  have  seen  that  these  senses  are 
usually  stimulated  by  forces  external  to  the  organism; 
in  the  case  of  the  muscles  it  is  their  own  specific  action 
that  produces  their  sensations.  The  function  to  which 
the  muscles  are  specially  adapted  is  the  production  of 
motion ;  and  this  they  produce  by  the  peculiar  property 
with  which  they  are  endowed.  This  property  is  called 
their  contractility.  It  is  a  peculiar  power  of  shorten- 
ing their  tissues  so  as  to  pull  those  parts  of  the  organism 
to  which  they  are  attached. 

(C)  Muscular  sensations,  properly  so  called,  are 
therefore  the  sensations  excited  during  the  peculiar  ac- 
tion of  the  muscles;  and  the  term  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood as  including  sensations  excited  by  any  condition 
of  muscular  tissue  besides  its  contraction.  In  this  re- 
stricted sense  the  muscular  sensations  are  divisible  into 
two  classes,  comprehending  respectively  the  sensations 
of  simple  tension  and  those  of  motion. 

*  It  Is  interesting  to  note  that  rare  cases  occur  of  voluntary  control 
over  the  heart,  while  other  spheres  of  muscular  action  also,  usually 
Involuntary,  are  occasionally  under  the  control  of  the  will.  See  James's 
Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  495,  note,  with  the  authorities 
referred   to  there. 


74  PSYCHOLOGY 

I.  The  former  class  includes  all  the  feelings  excited 
by  a  mnsciilar  strain  that  does  not  pass  into  living 
movement,  —  a  "  dead  strain/^  as  it  is  called.  Such 
feelings  are  experienced  when  supporting  the  body, 
especially  in  an  upright  posture.  Other  examples  are 
found  in  the  support  of  an  external  weight,  or  in  the 
effort  of  merely  resisting  any  force,  as  well  as  in  the 
push  against  an  insuperable  obstacle. 

II.  The  second  class  comprehends  the  sensations  ex- 
cited by  a  muscular  effort  which  results  in  movement. 
The  only  marked  difference  among  this  class  of  sensa- 
tions is  founded  on  the  varying  rapidity  of  the  motion 
produced.  The  sensations  of  rapid  movement  are  more 
exciting,  while  those  of  slow  movement  belong  to  the 
calmer  type.  For  this  reason,  as  will  aft-erwards  ap- 
pear, the  latter  class  afford  more  valuable  materials  for 
knowledge;  and  the  same  may  be  said  regarding  the 
sensations  of  a  dead  strain.  The  sensations  of  rapid 
movement,  on  the  other  hand,  are  more  powerful  stimu- 
lants of  feeling,  —  of  our  pleasures  and  pains. 

It  remains  to  be  added,  that  in  our  mental  develop- 
ment the  muscular  sense  is  of  value,  not  merely  in  itself, 
but  also  as  an  aid  to  the  other  senses.  This  has  been 
already  noticed  incidentally ;  but  in  the  analysis  of  our 
perceptions  it  will  appear  more  clearly  that  not  only  in 
touching,  but  also  in  tasting  and  smelling,  in  seeing  and 
hearing,  the  acuteness  of  perception  is  largely  increased 
by  muscular  activity  and  sensibility.  And  it  will  thus 
be  seen  that,  as  was  observed  before,  the  body  is  the 
organ  of  the  soul,  not  simply  as  the  passive  recipient  of 
external  impressions,  but  also  in  virtue  of  its  active 
power. 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  75 

Muscular  exertion  stimulates  respiration;  and  there- 
fore muscular  sensations,  especially  of  the  intenser 
sort,  are  apt  to  be  mingled  with  the  sensations  of 
the  next  class. 


ii.  —  The  Pulmonary  Sensibility, 

This  class  comprehends  those  sensations  which  may 
be  called  pulmonary,  inasmuch  as  they  are  connected 
with  the  action  of  the  lungs.  They  have  been  already 
noticed  as  mingling  with  olfactory  sensations  in  what 
are  known  as  f resit  and  close  smells.  The  lungs  do  not 
obtrude  their  normal  action  into  consciousness;  but 
more  or  less  distinct  sensation  is  excited  by  any  marked 
variation  in  their  action,  arising  from  any  unusual 
stimulant  or  impediment.  Thus  we  feel  the  influence 
of  any  cause  which,  by  increasing  the  supply  of  oxygen 
to  the  lungs,  stimulates  the  respiration.  This  is  one  of 
the  effects  experienced  from  the  fall  of  the  thermome- 
ter; and  it  is  partly  in  consequence  of  this  that  the 
breathing  of  cool  air  is  felt  to  be  "bracing,"  though 
the  effect  of  cold  on  all  the  bodily  tissues  must  not  be 
overlooked  in  explaining  the  general  feeling  of  exhila- 
ration described  by  this  term.  A  similar  stimulation 
is  felt  in  facing  a  breeze,  in  passing  from  a  confined 
atmosphere  to  the  open  air,  or  in  brisk  muscular  exer- 
cise. These  sensations,  however,  cannot,  from  their 
very  nature,  be  limited  to  the  lungs.  The  accelerated 
oxidation  of  the  blood,  with  which  they  are  associated, 
stimulates  all  the  vital  processes,  and  produces  in  con- 
sequence a  feeling  of  intensified  vitality  throughout  the 
whole  animal  system. 


76  PSYCHOLOGY 

"  O  there  is  sweetness  in  the  mountain  air, 
And  life  that  bloated  ease  may  never  hope  to  share ! "  ^ 

On  the  other  hand,  any  impediment  to  the  healthy 
action  of  the  lungs  produces  a  feeling  of  depression, 
Avhich  diffuses  itself  rapidly  over  all  the  functions  of 
life.  This  feeling  may  vary  in  all  degrees  from  the 
comparatively  mild  torpor  induced  by  breathing  a 
somewhat  vitiated  atmosphere  up  to  the  terrible  agony 
of  suffocation. 


ill.  —  The  Alimentary  Sensibility. 

Another  group  of  sensations  to  be  noticed  in  this 
section  are  those  connected  with  the  alimentary  canal. 
There  is  a  great  variety  among  these  sensations,  cor- 
responding partly  to  the  different  regions  of  their 
organ,  partly  to  the  different  stages  in  the  process  of 
digestion,  which  is  its  function.  Connected  with  the 
earliest  stages  of  this  process,  the  mastication  and  sali- 
vation of  food  in  the  mouth,  as  well  as  its  solution 
under  the  action  of  the  gastric  juice  in  the  stomach, 
there  are  those  pleasant  sensations  of  relish  and  those 
unpleasant  sensations  of  nausea  or  disgust  which  have 
been  already  referred  to  as  being  sometimes  confounded 
with  tastes  and  smells.  During  the  unimpeded  per- 
formance of  its  functions  the  alimentary  canal  does  not 
obtrude  itself  upon  consciousness  in  the  form  of  any 
definite  sensation.  Healthy  digestion  is  indeed  accom- 
panied with  a  feeling  of  comfort,  extremely  luxurious 
though  vague;    but  this  feeling  is  evidently  diffused 

*  Byron's  Childe  Harold,  I.,  30. 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  77 

so  extensively  over  the  whole  animal  system  that 
it  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  sensation  of  the  alimentary 
canal  exclusively,  though  this  organ  may  be  its  primary 
source.  On  the  other  hand,  indigestion  gives  rise  to  a 
great  variety  of  disagreeable  sensations,  deriving  their 
various  characters  from  the  nature  of  the  interruptions 
from  which  they  proceed,  but  seldom,  except  in  milder 
cases,  confining  themselves  to  the  alimentary  canal. 
Moreover,  when  the  food  has  been  digested  and  ab- 
sorbed, the  want  of  a  new  supply  produces  the  familiar 
sensations  of  hunger.  But  this  sensation  also,  though 
in  its  earlier  stages  definitely  localised  in  the  stomach, 
tends,  w^hen  prolonged,  to  spread  into  a  dreadful  state 
of  general  suffering  that  obliterates  the  sense  of  its 
original  source. 

iv.  —  The  Sensibility  of  Other  Organs, 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  remaining  organs  of 
the  body,  such  as  the  bones,  the  ligaments,  the  arteries 
and  veins,  are  sensitive;  but  the  sensations  of  which 
they  are  the  source  are  either  so  completely  fused  with 
concomitant  sensations  of  other  organs  that  they  cannot 
be  distinctly  defined,  or  their  sensations  are  essentially 
similar  to  those  which  may  be  experienced  in  all  the 
organs  of  the  body,  and  are  therefore  referred  to  the 
next  section.  The  only  exception  is  the  sensations  de- 
rived from  the  distinctive  organs  of  the  sexes;  and 
these  sensations,  if  they  admitted  of  a  detailed  treat- 
ment, might  be  shown  to  form  a  very  important  factor 
in  the  upbuilding  of  the  human  mind.  Apparently 
some  of  the  most  important  crises  in  mental  life  are 


78  PSYCHOLOGY 

connected  with  the  vast  expansion  and  intensification 
of  sensibility  at  the  age  of  puberty.^ 

§  2.  —  General  Sensations^  not  limited  to  Particular 

Organs. 

The  sensations  belonging  to  this  section  have  already 
been  described  as  peculiarly  deserving  to  be  styled  gen- 
eral sensations.  Besides  the  fact  that  they  cannot  be 
defined  by  their  association  Avith  separate  organs,  — 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  this  fact,  —  they  possess  in 
a  high  degree  that  characteristic  vagueness  which  con- 
trasts most  of  the  general  sensations  with  the  special. 
This  renders  it  impossible,  in  the  present  state  of  psy- 
chology, to  attempt  anything  like  an  exact  or  exhaus- 
tive classification  of  these  sensations.  It  should  be 
observed,  however,  that  the  general  tendency  in  organic 
life  to  specialisation  or  differentiation  appears  in  the 
fact  that  certain  organs  or  parts  of  the  body  are  more 
sensitive  to  certain  general  sensations,  such  as  tempera- 
ture, tickling,  and  peculiar  kinds  of  pain. 

I.  The  most  obtrusive  in  our  daily  consciousness  ap- 
pear to  be  the  sensations  of  temperature.  Animal  tis- 
sues, like  all  other  bodies,  are  subject  to  the  expansion 
and  contraction  which  result  from  the  rise  and  fall  of 
temperature;  and  it  seems  as  if  this  action  on  the 
nervous  tissues  afforded  a  sufiicient  physiological  ex- 
planation of  the  feelings  of  heat  and  cold,  though  some 

1  A  valuable  discussion  of  the  subject  will  be  found  in  a  work  by 
Dr.  G.  Stanley  Hall,  which  has  appeared  as  these  pages  are  passing 
through  the  press:  Adolescence:  its  Psychology,  and  its  Relation  to 
Anthropology,  Sociology,  Bex,  Crime,  Religion,  and  Education  (1904). 
See  eepeclally  Chap.  VI. 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  79 

physiologists  have  held  that  the  sensibility  is  due  to  a 
special  set  of  nerves.^  Whether  the  sensibility  to  tem- 
perature be,  as  this  theory  supposes,  a  special  sense  or 
not,  it  certainly  is  not  limited  to  any  single  part  of  the 
organism.  The  feeling  of  heat  or  cold  may,  indeed,  for 
the  moment  be  localised  in  some  particular  region  of 
the  body;  but  it  may  equally  well  at  another  time  be 
confined  to  a  different  region,  or  diffused  generally 
throughout  every  part,  internal  and  external.  As  the 
sense  of  temperature  must  be  affected  mainly  by  the 
temperature  of  the  environment,  it  is  probably  the  skin, 
either  in  general  or  at  some  definite  part,  that  is  most 
frequently  the  seat  of  warmth  or  chill.  But  these  sen- 
sations, though  thus  associated  with  the  organ  of  touch, 
must  not  on  that  account  be  considered  tactile;  for  not 
only  are  the  two  kinds  of  sensation  wholly  distinct  in 
character,  but  the  parts  w^hich  are  most  sensitive  to 
touch  are  not  proportionally  sensitive  to  temperature. 
In  connection  with  the  relation  of  touch  to  the  sense 
of  temperature,  a  somewhat  interesting  fact  may  be 
mentioned.  Suppose  a  part  of  the  skin  endowed  with 
an  acute  sense  of  touch  is  brought  into  contact  with  a 
part  comparatively  obtuse,  then,  unless  an  effort  of  at- 
tention interfere,  the  acute  part  feels  most  prominently 
the  touch  of  the  obtuse,  while  the  latter  feels  most 
prominently  the  temperature  of  the  other.  If  the  brow, 
for  example,  is  feverishly  hot,  and  the  hand  chilled, 
it  is  pleasant  to  feel  on  the  brow  the  coolness  of  the 
hand,  which  does  not  so  perceptibly  realise  the  tem- 
perature of  the  brow.     So,  too,  the  warmed  hand  is 

*  This  theory  does  not  seem  to  be  confirmed  by  recent  experiments, 
and  Is  theoretically  almost  Incredible.  See  Jodl's  Lehrhuch  der  Psy- 
chologic, p.  256. 


80  PSYCHOLOGY 

often  applied  to  the  face  when  suffering  from  any 
neuralgic  affection  which  is  relieved  by  heat. 

II.  Another  very  extensive  group  of  sensations  may 
be  described  somewhat  indefinitely  as  due  to  abnormal 
or  at  least  unusual  conditions  of  the  various  bodily 
tissues. 

1.  Diseases  and  injuries  may  be  mentioned  first 
among  these  abnormal  conditions.  Some  organs,  like 
the  bones  and  ligaments,  never  affect  our  conscious- 
ness except  under  such  unusual  influences  as  a  rup- 
ture, a  fracture,  or  some  kind  of  internal  decay.  The 
muscles  also  are  the  seat  of  many  painful  sensations 
in  cases  of  laceration,  bruising,  or  cramp.  The  con- 
dition of  nerve-tissue  in  health  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  appear  in  consciousness,  except  perhaps  in  a  vague 
sense  of  general  well-being;  but  one  of  the  most  un- 
endurable forms  of  acute  pain  is  that  which  arises 
from  a  diseased  state  of  some  nerve,  and  which  is 
therefore  appropriately  described  by  the  name  of 
neuralgia  (nerve-ache). 

Perhaps  the  sensations  of  fatigue  ought  to  be  in- 
cluded among  those  arising  from  an  injured  condition 
of  bodily  tissue;  for  these  sensations  become  obtrusive 
in  consciousness  only  w^hen  the  limit  of  health  is  being 
transgressed  in  the  action  of  any  organ.  These  sensa- 
tions may,  indeed,  in  earlier  stages  assume  the  form  of 
a  mild  lassitude  which  is  just  sufficient  to  give  a  zest 
to  repose;  but  even  then  they  are  to  be  taken  as  a 
warning  that  the  action  of  the  fatigued  organ  cannot 
be  continued  with  impunity.  It  is  the  sensations  aris- 
ing from  excessive  and  irksome  muscular  toil  that  fill 
the  cup  of  daily  misery  in  the  life  of  the  overwrought 


THE    GENERAL    SENSES  81 

poor.  But  probably  the  most  intolerable  sensations  of 
weariness  are  those  which  have  their  origin  in  the 
excessive  waste  of  nerve-tissue  produced  by  prolonged 
periods  of  sleeplessness,  of  intense  emotional  excite- 
ment, of  severe  intellectual  labour,  or,  what  is  still 
worse,  of  all  these  combined. 

2.  The  abnormal  conditions  of  animal  tissue  which 
are  thus  found  to  be  the  source  of  sensation  may  be 
produced  by  the  application  of  various  substances. 
Powerful  irritants,  like  peppers,  acids,  ammonia,  or 
alcohol,  have  been  already  referred  to  as  setting  up 
an  inflammatory  action  on  the  skin  and  other  parts 
of  the  body.  But  the  various  substances  designated  as 
poisons  are  those  w^hich  play  the  strangest  freaks  with 
human  sensibility,  apparently  by  their  action  on  the 
nerve-tissues.  The  term  intoxication^  if  its  original 
meaning  be  kept  in  view,  might  be  used  to  describe  the 
sensations  arising  from  the  action  of  poisons.  But  the 
term  commonly  implies,  what  must  be  obvious  to  every 
observer,  that  the  influence  of  these  substances  extends 
at  once  to  the  highest  nerve-centres,  resulting  often  in 
the  most  startling  effects  upon  intellect  and  emotion. 
It  seems  impossible,  therefore,  to  eliminate  these  phe- 
nomena of  intellectual  and  emotional  elevation  or  de- 
pression arising  from  the  stimulating  or  narcotic  action 
of  poisons  so  as  to  define  their  effect  on  the  mere 
sensibility. 

3.  Among  the  influences  originating  unusual  condi- 
tions of  nervous  tissue,  electricity  and  magnetism  de- 
mand a  place.  The  artificial  application  of  electricity 
produces  a  well-marked  kind  of  feeling,  the  spark  from 
a  Leyden  jar  startling  the  subject  of  the  experiment 

6 


82  PSYCHOLOGY 

with  an  acute  shock,  while  the  Voltaic  current  pours  a 
continuous  thrill  of  wrenching  sensations.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  influence  of  the  natural  electricity  on 
the  nervous  system  is  by  no  means  so  well  marked.  It 
appears  only  when  there  are  considerable  disturbances 
in  the  electrical  state  of  the  atmosphere  or  in  the  earth's 
magnetism,  as  during  thunderstorms  or  earthquakes.  It 
is  also  limited  to  very  vague  effects  in  consciousness, 
with  which  probably  psychical  processes  of  an  intel- 
lectual or  emotional  kind  are  intermingled.  Moreover, 
these  effects  appear  to  depend  largely  on  individual 
peculiarities  of  nervous  temperament:  in  some  persons 
they  take  the  form  of  an  inexplicable  elevation,  in 
others  that  of  an  equally  inexplicable  depression.  In 
a  cold  dry  climate  like  that  of  the  Canadian  winter, 
where  animal  electricity  is  sometimes  developed  with 
unusual  power,  there  appear  to  be  no  definite  electrical 
sensations  experienced,  except  when  a  spark  is  drawn 
by  the  touch  of  a  conductor. 

Since  the  time  of  Mesmer  and  Von  Reichenbach  the 
influence  of  animal  electricity  and  magnetism  has  often 
been  connected  with  some  of  the  strangest  phenomena 
in  the  psychical  life  of  man;  but  the  attempt  to  estab- 
lish this  connection  raises  a  problem  which  can  be  con- 
veniently discussed  only  at  a  later  stage. 


PART    II. 
THE    MENTAL    PROCESSES. 

THE  phenomena  of  mind  resemble  the  phenomena 
of  matter  in  the  fact  that  ordinarily  they  are 
of  a  complex  character.  The  elementary  constituents  of 
mental  phenomena,  described  in  the  previous  Part  of 
this  Book,  are  not  found  in  distinct  isolation  in  our 
ordinary  consciousness;  they  are  separated  only  by 
scientific  abstraction,  —  by  analysis.  The  combination 
of  these  elements  into  coexistent  groups  or  consecutive 
series,  however  capricious  it  may  seem  to  a  careless 
observer,  is  found  on  more  accurate  inquiry  to  be  due 
to  certain  determinate  processes  which  are  governed  by 
invariable  laws.  These  processes  are  Association  and 
Comparison.     They  form  the  subject  of  this  Part. 

CHAPTER    I. 

ASSOCIATION. 

TO  imderstand  this  process  it  must  be  observed  that 
the  elements  of  mind  may  not  only  make  their 
appearance  in  consciousness,  under  the  conditions  ex- 
plained in  the  previous  Part,  but  that  they  may  reap- 
pear any  time  after,  generally  in  a  fainter  degree,  when 


84  PSYCHOLOGY 

these  conditions  no  longer  exist  Such  a  reappearance 
of  any  mental  state  is  appropriately  named  a  represen- 
tatioHy  while  its  original  appearance  in  consciousness  is 
called  a  presentation.  A  former  state  of  mind  is  thus 
represented  in  consciousness  in  consequence  of  a  cer- 
tain relation  existing  between  it  and  the  mental  state 
immediately  preceding  the  representation.  This  rela- 
tion is  technically  named  an  association.  The  act  by 
which  the  preceding  mental  state  evokes  a  representa- 
tion is  called,  in  technical  as  well  as  in  ordinary  lan- 
guage, suggestion.  The  conditions  under  which  this 
act  is  performed  are  therefore  called  the  Laws  of  Sug- 
gestion; but  as  suggestion  is  founded  on  an  association 
between  the  suggesting  and  the  suggested  states  of  mind, 
these  laws  are  sometimes  named  also  the  Laws  of  As- 
sociation. Of  these  laws  some  are  distinguished  as 
privfiary,  others  as  secondary.  The  difference  between 
these  will  be  more  easily  comprehended  after  the  ex- 
planation of  the  former  class. 

§  1.  —  Primary  Laws  of  Suggestion, 

In  their  highest  generalisation  these  laws  are  redu- 
cible to  two. 

I.  The  Law  of  Similarity  or  of  Direct  Remembrance, 

—  States  of  mind,  identical  in  nature,  though  dif- 
fering in  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  are  capable 
of  suggesting  each  other. 

II.  The  Law  of  Contiguity  or  of  Indirect  Remembrance. 

—  States  of  mind,  though  differing  in  nature,  if 
identical  in  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  are  ca- 
pable of  suggesting  each  other. 


ASSOCIATIO:?^  85 

These  two  laws  evidently  comprehend  all  possible 
cases  of  suggestion,  as  they  apply  both  to  phenomena 
which  are  identical  and  to  those  which  are  different  in 
natu^'e.  The  first  law  requires,  in  order  to  the  possi- 
bility of  suggestion,  that  there  be  a  natural  resemblance 
between  the  suggesting  and  the  suggested  states  of  mind. 
Thus,  when  I  hear  a  sound  which  I  recognise  as  the 
voice  of  a  friend,  the  recognition  implies  that  the  sound 
of  the  present  moment  suggests  to  me  the  sound  of  the 
voice  heard  before.  IsTow  the  two  sounds  are  similar  in 
their  nature;  they  differ  merely  in  the  time  of  their 
occurrence,  the  one  being  heard  now,  the  other  having 
been  heard  on  some  previous  occasion.  The  two  sounds 
therefore  fulfil  the  conditions  of  the  first  law.  But  the 
act  of  which  we  are  speaking,  the  recognition  of  a 
sound  as  being  a  friend's  voice,  implies  something 
more.  ^N^ot  only  does  the  present  recall  the  former 
sound,  but  it  recalls  also  the  friend's  appearance,  with 
which  that  sound  is  associated.  INTow  there  is  no  natu- 
ral resemblance  between  a  man's  visual  appearance 
and  the  sound  of  his  voice;  but  the  two  have,  by 
hypothesis,  been  in  the  mind  at  the  same  time.  They 
therefore  fulfil  the  conditions  of  the  law  of  contigu- 
ity, and  the  one  is  thereby  capable  of  suggesting  the 
other. 

Such  is  the  general  purport  of  the  primary  laws  of 
suggestion.  The  nomenclature  by  which  they  are  dis- 
tinguished can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  determined  among 
psychologists.  The  names  Similarity  and  Contiguity 
are  those  adopted,  perhaps  most  commonly,  in  English 
psychological  literature.  The  other  names.  Direct  and 
Indirect  Remembrance,  were  given  to  the  laws  by  Sir 


Se  PSYCHOLOGY 

William  Ilamilton.^  Perhaps  they  were  suggested  hy 
ihc  expressions  Immediate  and  Mediate  Reproduction 
used  by  Ilerbart.^  But,  whatever  their  origin,  their 
significance,  which  will  appear  in  subsequent  exposi- 
tions, has  been  unfortunately  overlooked  by  English 
psychologists.  The  phrase  Intrinsic  and  Extrinsic  As- 
sociation ^  might  be  introduced  very  appropriately  to 
distinguish  associations  founded  on  intrinsic  resem- 
blances of  mental  states  from  those  which  imply  merely 
the  extrinsic  accident  of  simultaneous  occurrence  in 
consciousness. 

Although  the  general  drift  of  these  laws  may  be  in- 
dicated by  the  above  explanation,  yet  the  full  bearing 
of  their  influence  in  the  processes  of  mind  requires  a 
more  detailed  exposition.  Such  an  exposition  may  be 
conveniently  given  in  connection  with  certain  forms  of 
suggestion,  which  were  supposed  by  old  psychologists 
to  be  independent  laws,  but  which  may  be  shown  to  be 
merely  resultants  of  the  two  more  general  laws  imder 
consideration. 

i.  —  Suggestion  hy  Local  Association, 

To  the  ordinary  observer  of  what  is  passing  in  his 
mind,  there  is  perhaps  nothing  more  obvious  than  the 
fact  that  things  are  apt  to  suggest  one  another  if  they 
have  been  associated  in  place ;    and  therefore  this  mode 

*  See  his  dissertation  appended  to  Reid's  Works  (Note  D***, 
pp.  912-913).  It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  this  dissertation  was  never 
finished  by  its  author,  and  that  his  theory  of  suggestion  was  there- 
fore never  brought  into  complete  shape. 

2  Unmittelbare  und  Mittelbare  Reproduction  {Werke,  Vol.  V.,  pp. 
24-25).  These  terms  are  used  also  by  Lotze  (Mikrokosmus,  Vol.  I., 
p.  236;    and  Orundzuge  der  Psychologie,  p.  22). 

3  Thus  I  would  translate  Wundt's  Innere  und  Aeussere  Association 
(Physiologische  Psychologic,  Vol.  II.,  p.  300,  2d  ed.). 


ASSOCIATION"  87 

of  suggestion  was  noticed  even  by  the  earliest  inquirers. 
Among  the  multitude  of  phenomena  illustrative  of  this 
principle  there  are  two  which  possess  a  special  interest. 

I.  Local  Association  is  the  link  by  which  mental 
states  seem  to  be  most  easily  connected,  and  by  which 
therefore  they  suggest  each  other  with  the  greatest  readi- 
ness. The  reason  of  this  will  be  considered  again. 
Here  it  may  be  observed  that  the  groat  mass  of  the 
knowledge  which  we  acquire  naturally  is  given  through 
the  senses,  especially  through  the  sense  of  sight,  and 
the  idea  which  we  form  of  an  object  is,  wherever  pos- 
sible, a  visual  image.  Consequently  it  is  natural  that 
the  easiest  transition  between  mental  states  should  occur 
when  they  have  such  a  local  relation  as  to  form  parts 
of  one  visual  picture. 

On  this  account  local  association  forms  a  predomi- 
nant power  of  suggestion  in  minds  that  have  not  been 
disciplined  to  methodical  habits  of  thinking;^  and  even 
in  men  of  cultured  intelligence  the  train  of  thought  is 
directed  along  this  line  when  mental  discipline  is  re- 
laxed under  the  indolence  of  reverie  or  the  general 
decay  of  old  age.  Then  a  simple  story  cannot  be  told 
without  introducing  a  number  of  circumstances  which 
have  only  a  local  connection  with  it,  and  by  which 
accordingly  its  point  is  often  concealed  and  its  interest 
flags.  It  has  been  mentioned  as  an  indication  of  the 
genius  of  Shakespeare,  that  he  guides  the  talk  of  un- 
educated characters  along  the  track  of  local  associa- 
tions.    "  Thou  didst  swear  to  me,"  says  the  Hostess  in 


*  Apparently  associations  of  locality  are  strong  also  among  some 
of  the  lower  animals,  at  least  in  the  domestic  state,  such  as  the 
horse,  the  dog,  and  the  carrier-pigeon. 


88  PSYCHOLOGY 

Henry  (he  Fourth,^  '"  upon  a  parcel-gilt  goblet,  sitting 
in  my  Dolphin-chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea- 
coal  fire,  on  Wednesday,  in  Whitsun'  week,  when  the 
Prince  broke  thy  head,''  etc. 

In  consequence  of  the  readiness  with  which  thoughts 
are  suggested  by  local  association,  it  has  been  made  the 
basis  of  many  systems  and  artifices  for  aiding  the 
memory.  Mnemonic  systems  of  various  plans  have 
been  invented,  but  their  ingenuity  has  generally  been 
too  artificial  to  render  them  of  much  service.  Still, 
there  are  several  simple  expedients  by  w^hich  local  con- 
tiguity may  be  used  to  make  recollection  easier.  Of 
these  the  most  familiar  and  the  most  useful  are  tabular 
views  and  genealogical  trees.  Thus  an  elaborate  clas- 
sification, which  could  be  mastered  only  with  great 
labour  and  perhaps  uncertainty,  if  we  depended  en- 
tirely on  the  relations  of  resemblance  or  causality  be- 
tween its  parts,  may  be  committed  to  memory  with 
comparative  ease  by  arranging  them  in  a  tabular  view,  — 
that  is,  by  placing  them  in  local  association  with  one 
another.^ 

II.  Another  fact  to  be  observed  in  connection  with 
this  power  of  suggestion  is,  that  a  place  may  recall,  not 
only  another  place  or  a  material  object  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood, but  also  any  thought  or  emotion  which  has 
been  experienced  there.  It  is  by  such  associations  that 
localities  come  to  wield  such  an  influence  over  the  feel- 
ings and  the  actions  of  men.     In  all  settled  communi- 

»  Part  II.,  Act  II.,  Scene  1. 

»  This  fact  has  been  recognised  by  writers  of  all  times.  Cicero 
(De  Oratore,  II.,  87)  ascribes  its  discovery,  somewhat  hesitatingly,  to 
Simonides,  evidently  alluding  to  a  well-known  beautiful  myth  in  the 
poet's  life.  Quintilian,  also,  gives  detailed  illustrations  of  the  action 
of  local  associations  in  assisting  the  memory   (De  Orat.  Inst.,  XI,,  2). 


ASS0CIATI0:N"  89 

ties  the  power  of  "  home,"  especially  over  the  inner  life 
of  individuals,  has  become  a  familiar  theme  for  litera- 
ture. But  an  influence  of  wider  sweep  is  acquired  by 
places  that  have  become  associated  with  the  lives  of 
great  men  or  with  great  events  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  It  is  an  often-quoted  saying  of  Johnson's,  that 
"  that  man  is  little  to  be  envied  whose  patriotism  would 
not  gain  force  upon  the  plain  of  Marathon,  or  whose 
piety  would  not  grow  warmer  among  the  ruins  of 
lona."  ^  It  is  this  that  forms  to  Americans  the  charm 
of  travel  in  the  Old  World.  It  is  thus  that  the  church 
or  temple,  —  the  building  or  locality,  —  set  apart  for 
worship,  becomes  associated  in  the  devout  mind  with 
the  purest  thoughts  and  the  highest  aspirations  of  his 
life,  so  that  it  grows  suggestive  to  him  of  a  sacredness 
which  can  be  at  best  but  clumsily  symbolised  in  any 
ritual  of  consecration.  Any  locality  which  has  taken 
a  position  in  the  history  of  a  good  man  becomes  power- 
ful to  stimulate  aspirations  after  the  saintliness  of  his 
life;  and  this  imparts  its  religious  significance  and 
justification  to  the  practice  of  making  pilgrimages  to 
the  shrines  of  saints.  The  great  series  of  events  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Crusades,  in  which  the  conflict  of 
Christendom  and  Islam  found  its  most  vivid  and  en- 
thusiastic expression,  forms  a  striking  example  of  the 
part  which  local  associations  have  played  in  directing 
even  the  grander  movements  of  the  world's  history. 

Such  are  a  few  illustrations  of  this  suggestive  force: 
it  remains  for  us  now  to  analyse  it  into  the  two  more 
general  laws  of  Direct  and  Indirect  Remembrance.  In 
order  to  do  this  it  must  be  observed  that  in  all  cases  of 

*  Journey  1o  the  Hebrides. 


90  PSYCHOLOGY 

suggestion  by  local  contiguity  there  must  have  been  a 
cognition,  whether  a  presentation  or  representation,  of 
some  locality,  and,  coexisting  with  it  in  consciousness, 
there  nmst  have  been  either  a  cognition  of  something 
in  the  neighbourhood,  or  some  thought  or  emotion,  or 
other  state  of  mind.  These  mental  states,  having  been 
contemporaneous  with  the  cognition  of  the  locality, 
fulfil  thus  the  conditions  upon  which  the  law  of  In- 
direct Remembrance  depends:  however  different  in 
nature  they  may  be  from  the  cognition  of  the  locality, 
they  do  not  differ  from  it  in  the  time  of  their  occur- 
rence. Now,  when  the  locality  is  subsequently  pre- 
sented or  represented,  this  subsequent  cognition  is 
identical  in  nature  with  the  previous  cognition,  differ- 
ing from  it  only  in  the  time  of  its  occurrence,  so  that 
the  later  cognition  suggests  the  earlier  by  the  law  of 
Direct  Remembrance. 

The   combined   operation   of   the   two   laws   may  be 
illustrated  bv  the  following  diagram,  in  which  P^  sym- 


Law  of  Contiguity. 
Pi )^AS 


r5 

CO 


P2 


bolises  an  earlier  cognition  of  any  place,  P^  a  subse- 
quent cognition  of  the  same ;  while  AS  is  a  symbol  for 
mental  states  associated  with  the  former  cognition,  and 


ASSOCIATION"  91 

the  arrows  point  in  the  line  of  suggestion.  The  dia- 
gram also  illustrates  the  fact  that  the  Law  of  Similarity 
is  the  fundamental  principle  of  suggestion,  inasmuch 
as  mental  states  are  recalled  by  it  directly  or  immedi- 
ately, but  only  indirectly  or  mediately  by  the  Law  of 
Contiguity. 

ii.  —  Suggestion  hy  Resemblance, 

This  force  of  suggestion  is  scarcely  less  obvious  than 
the  preceding,  and  has  therefore  been  long  familiar  to 
students  of  the  mental  processes.  It  is  not,  however,  so 
readily  suggestive  as  local  association,  and  accordingly 
is  not  so  characteristic  of  \Tilgar  minds.  On  the  con- 
trary, its  presence,  as  a  powerful  and  frequent  energy 
in  determining  the  course  of  thought,  is  one  of  the  most 
obvious  evidences  of  intellectual  culture.  The  more 
cultivated  intellects  may  be  roughly  distinguished  into 
two  groups,  —  as  the  scientific  or  philosophical,  and  the 
poetical  or  artistic;  in  both  an  essential  factor  of  their 
siiperiority  is  the  prominent  part  that  is  played  by 
suggestions  based  on  resemblance.  It  is  by  this  power 
that  the  scientific  mind  ascends  to  ever  higher  gener- 
alisations, for  a  new  generalisation  is  a  connection  of 
phenomena  by  resemblances  which  had  not  operated  as 
links  of  suggestion  before.  Art,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
often  spoken  of  as  an  imitation  of  nature;  and  even 
though  this  may  not  be  a  complete  definition,  it  yet 
points  to  the  large  place  that  suggestions  by  resem- 
blance hold  in  the  artistic  mind.  When  Newton,  ac- 
cording to  the  familiar  story,  saw  in  the  fall  of  an 
apple  a  manifestation  of  the  force  by  which  the  planets 


92  PSYCHOLOGY 

are  kept  in  their  orbits  round  tlie  sun,  a  resemblance, 
previously  undiscovered,  between  terrestrial  and  celes- 
tial motions  suggested  itself  to  his  mind.  So  when 
Troilus  describes  the  relation  of  a  lover  to  the  object 
of  his  passion  as  being  like  that  of  "  earth  to  the 
centre,"  when  Cressida  more  explicitly  asserts  that  — 

"  The  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, 
Drawing  all  things  to  it,"  ^ 

we  have  a  fine  expression  of  the  close  approximation 
between  the  scientific  classification  of  similar  processes 
and  the  poetical  illustration  of  the  spiritual  by  the 
material,  of  obscure  phenomena  by  those  that  may  be 
clearly  pictured  to  the  imagination.  It  is  worth  not- 
ing, also,  that  many  of  the  peculiarly  artistic  forms  of 
language,  the  so-called  figures  of  speech,  —  simile,  meta- 
phor, allegory,  parable,  fable,  myth,  —  are  based  upon 
resemblance,  and  would  be  impossible  but  for  its 
suggestiveness. 

But  it  is  not  in  minds  of  the  higher  order  alone  that 
resemblance  is  suggestive.  It  is  this  that  enables  the 
ordinary  mind  to  perform  such  a  common  act  as  the 
recognition  of  a  portrait  by  its  resemblance  to  the  per- 
son portrayed.  But,  in  fact,  without  this  power  of 
suggestion  even  the  simplest  acts  of  intelligence  would 
be  impossible.  When,  for  example,  in  any  dish  at  table 
I  perceive  a  peculiar  flavour,  like  that  of  peach  or 
lemon  or  strawberry,  the  perception  implies  that  some 
previous  taste  of  the  same  nature  is  suggested  to  my 
mind,  and  recognised  as  being  identical  with  the  taste 

^  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  IV.,  Scene  2. 


ASSOCIATIO:^^  93 

at  present  experienced.  Resemblance  thus  appears  as 
an  universal  factor  in  suggestion;  and  accordingly, 
though  local  association  seems  to  be  the  principle  of 
the  most  common  artifices  for  aiding  the  memory, 
yet  mnemonic  rhymes  are  also  employed  for  the 
purpose. 

To  see  that  this  suggestive  force  results  from  the  two 
general  laws,  it  must  be  observed  that  resemblance  im- 
plies, not  absolute  identity,  but  merely  identity  in  some 
feature  or  features,  along  with  any  degree  of  differ- 
ence in  others.  Thus  the  resemblance  on  the  ground  of 
which  quadrupeds  are  classed  in  one  group  is  founded 
merely  on  the  one  feature  of  four-footedness,  while  it 
admits  all  such  variations  in  size  and  other  properties, 
as,  for  example,  between  the  elephant  and  the  mouse. 
ISTow  the  cognition  of  four-footedness  in  the  elephant 
and  the  cognition  of  the  same  attribute  in  the  mouse 
or  any  other  quadruped  are  mental  acts  identical  in 
their  nature,  though  differing  in  the  time  of  their 
occurrence ;  and  they  fulfil  therefore  the  conditions  of 
the  Law  of  Similarity.  But  this  cognition  coexisted 
in  the  one  case  with  the  cognition  of  the  distinctive 
properties  of  the  elephant,  in  the  other  with  the  cogni- 
tion of  the  distinctive  properties  of  the  mouse  or  some 
other  quadruped,  fulfilling  thus  the  conditions  of  the 
Law  of  Contiguity.  We  can  therefore  understand  why 
the  cognition  of  four-footedness  in  one  case  should 
suggest,  (1)  by  the  Law^  of  Similarity,  some  previous 
cognition  of  the  same  attribute,  (2)  by  the  Law  of 
Contiguity,  the  associated  cognition  of  the  other 
attributes. 


94  PSYCHOLOGY 

iii.  —  Suggestion  by  Contrast. 

The  suggestion  of  one  contrasted  object  by  another 
has  struck  all  observers.  The  sketches  of  the  mental 
life  of  man  in  general  literature  often  imply  a  ten- 
dency in  present  happiness  to  recall  former  suffering. 

"  Forsan  et  haec  olim  meminisse  juvabit."  ^ 

Present  misery  seems  likewise  suggestive  of  joys  that 
are  past :  — 

"  There  is  no  greater  sorrow 

Than  to  be  mindful  of  the  happy  time 

In  misery."  ^ 

A  very  slight  attention  to  the  course  of  private  medi- 
tations or  of  social  talk  will  soon  disclose  numerous 
instances  in  which  one  subject  suggests  another  by  way 
of  contrast;  so  that  the  thoughts  run  readily  between 
such  opposites  as  heat  and  cold,  joy  and  sorrow,  great- 
ness and  littleness,  virtue  and  vice. 

It  may  be  added  that  the  advance  of  culture  tends 
to  give  increasing  power  to  this  principle  of  suggestion 
in  directing  the  current  of  a  man's  thoughts.  For 
accurate  thinking  requires  not  only  that  objects  be 
identified  with  those  which  they  resemble,  but  often 
also  that  they  be  clearly  distinguished  from  those  which 
are  different.  Accordingly  the  cultivation  of  scientific 
habits  tends  to  make  objects  suggestive  of  others  with 

*  Aeneid,  I.,  203.     Compare  King  Richard  II.,  Act  III.,  Scene  4 :  — 
"  Joy,  being  altogether  wanting, 
It  dotli  remember  me  the  more  of  sorrow." 
2  Dante's   Inferno,    V.,    121-123    (Longfellow's   Translation).      Com- 
pare Tennyson's  Locksley  Hall:  — 

"  This  is  truth  the  poet  sings, 
That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things." 


associatio:n'  95 

which  they  stand  in  contrast.  Contrast  also  forms  the 
basis  of  many  artifices  of  literary  expression,  —  an- 
tithesis, irony,  and  in  general  any  explanation  of  what 
a  thing  is  by  contrasting  it  with  what  it  is  not.  This 
method  is  illustrated  with  striking  effect  throughout 
an  important  philosophical  work,  the  Institutes  of 
Metaphysics  by  Professor  Ferrier,  in  which  every 
proposition  maintained  by  the  author  has  its  full  sig- 
nificance brought  into  clearer  distinctness  by  setting 
over  against  it  the  ^^  counter-proposition  "  which  it  con- 
tradicts. The  parallelism  also,  w^hich  gives  a  distinc- 
tive form  to  Hebrew  poetry,  is  often  a  parallelism  of 
antitheses;  while  many,  if  not  all,  forms  of  wit,  in 
exciting  the  sentiment  of  the  ludicrous,  depend  on  the 
shock  of  a  pleasing  surprise  provoked  by  a  strong  un- 
expected contrast. 

This  law  of  suggestion  had  therefore  attracted  atten- 
tion among  psychologists  so  long  ago  at  least  as  the 
time  of  Aristotle,  and  it  seems,  by  him  as  well  as  by 
some  later  ^vriters,  to  have  been  considered  a  special 
power,  incapable  of  being  resolved  into  any  other. 
Some  modern  psychologists,  indeed,  seem  to  have 
thought  that,  in  respect  of  association  by  the  two  op- 
posite principles  of  resemblance  and  contrast,  the  world 
of  mind  affords  a  parallel  to  the  world  of  matter,  in 
which  there  are  the  two  antagonistic  forces  of  attrac- 
tion and  repulsion.  But  it  is  unnecessary  to  postulate 
any  such  independent  power  if  it  can  be  shown  to  be 
merely  another  resultant  of  the  two  law^s  of  Similarity 
and  Contiguity. 

To  explain  this  analysis  it  must  be  observed  that,  as 
resemblance  implies  some  contrast,  so  contrast  implies 


96  PSYCHOLOGY 

some  resemblance.  Two  things  cannot  be  contrasted 
except  in  reference  to  some  common  feature  in  which 
they  exhibit  opposite  extremes.  Giant  and  dwarf,  for 
example,  occupy  the  extremes  of  excess  and  defect  in 
the  common  property  of  stature,  virtue  and  vice  are  the 
opposite  extremes  of  moral  character,  heat  and  cold  the 
opposite  extremes  of  temperature.  But  there  is  no  con- 
trast bet^\'een  giant  and  virtue,  between  vice  and  cold. 
This  is  the  fact  which  the  logicians  express  in  the 
doctrine  that  there  is  no  logical  opposition  between 
propositions  unless  they  have  the  same  subject  and  the 
same  predicate.  Suggestion  by  contrast  is  therefore 
capable  of  explanation  in  the  same  w^ay  as  suggestion 
by  resemblance.  The  cognition  of  the  common  property 
on  which  the  contrast  is  based  in  one  extreme,  and  the 
cognition  of  it  in  the  other,  are  mutually  suggestive  by 
the  Law  of  Similarity,  while  the  distinctive  character- 
istics of  each  extreme  are  suggestible  by  the  Law  of 
Contiguity. 

iv.  —  Suggestion  hy  Relativity. 

The  relation  of  cause  and  effect  is  often  referred  to 
as  forming  a  bond  of  connection  between  our  thoughts ; 
but  other  relations,  such  as  those  of  parent  and  child, 
teacher  and  pupil,  author  and  production,  are  also 
operative  in  the  same  way.-^  Yet  before  a  relative  can 
suggest  its  correlate,  the  two  must  have  been  previously 
known  to  be  mutually  related,     l^ow  to  say  that  the 

*  As  in  the  case  of  resemblance  and  contrast,  the  increasing  influence 
of  relativity  in  suggestion  indicates  the  advance  of  mental  culture ; 
for  it  implies  that  things  are  becoming  connected  in  thought,  not  merely 
by  extrinsic  associations  in  time  or  space,  hut  by  their  intrinsic  rela- 
tions to  one  another.     See  Stewart's  Elements,  Vol.  I.,  p.  365. 


ASSOCIATION  97 

mutual  relation  of  the  two  must  have  hccn  previously 
known  implies  that  they  must  have  been  in  our  con- 
sciousness at  the  same  time,  and  have  thereby  fulfilled 
the  conditions  of  the  Law  of  Contiguity.  Accordingly, 
when  any  relative  term  occurs  to  the  mind  a  second  or 
subsequent  time,  it  may,  by  the  Law  of  Similarity,  re- 
call its  previous  appearance  in  consciousness,  and  this, 
by  the  Law  of  Contiguity,  will  recall  the  correlate  with 
which  it  was  associated. 

§  2.  —  Secondary  Laws  of  Suggestion. 

There  are  some  phenomena  of  suggestion  which  are 
inexplicable  by  the  primary  laws  alone,  which  there- 
fore imply  the  operation  of  another  set  of  laws.  These 
phenomena  are  connected  with  the  complex  character 
of  the  mental  states  which  make  up  the  course  of  our 
conscious  life.  For  that  course  is  not  to  be  conceived 
as  a  thread  on  which  one  solitary  state  of  consciousness 
is  strung  after  another,  —  as  a  chain  formed  of  succes- 
sive links.  On  the  contrary,  our  conscious  life  is  a 
complex  series  of  successive  clusters  of  mental  states, 
in  which  the  members  of  each  cluster  hold  more  or  less 
complicated  relations  with  one  another,  as  well  as  with 
the  members  of  the  immediately  contiguous  clusters. 
In  this  fact  there  are  involved  two  problems  connected 
with  suggestion. 

1.  Among  the  mental  states  which  compose  the  con- 
sciousness of  each  moment,  any  one  may  suggest,  or 
several  may  combine  in  suggesting,  the  mental  states  of 
the  next  moment.  Xow,  since  all  the  mental  states  of 
the  present  do  not  operate  equally  in  suggesting  those 

7 


98  PSYCHOLOGY 

that  immediately  follow,  the  question  arises,  what  is  it 
that  makes  some  of  them  more  suggestive  than  the  rest  ? 

2.  But  of  the  states  which  form  the  consciousness  at 
any  moment  each  is  capable  of  suggesting,  not  merely 
one  other  state,  but  usually  a  nmnber,  often  a  large 
number,  of  other  states.  It  is  impossible,  for  example, 
to  enumerate  all  the  thoughts  which  might  be  suggested 
to  the  mind  of  an  educated  Englishman  by  the  thought 
of  Shakespeare.  It  might  suggest  any  of  his  dramas, 
or  any  of  the  characters  in  these,  or  any  of  the  other 
Elizabethan  dramatists,  or  any  of  his  editors  or  commen- 
tators, besides  a  multitude  of  other  subjects.  In  like 
manner  a  vast  range  of  subjects  are  associated  in  the 
minds  of  educated  men  with  the  name  of  any  great 
author  in  the  world's  literature.  But  all  such  associated 
thoughts  are  never  in  any  case  actually  suggested :  ^  on 
the  contrary,  as  a  rule,  only  one  or  a  very  few  ever  make 
their  appearance  in  consciousness.  What,  then,  deter- 
mines this  selection  of  the  thoughts  that  are  actually 
suggested  among  a  multitude  that  are  capable  of  being 
suggested  ? 

These  are  the  two  problems  which  find  their  solution 
in  the  Secondary  Laws  of  Suggestion.  The  Primary 
Laws  describe  the  relations  that  are  required  to  make 
one  mental  state  capable  of  suggesting  another.  But 
they  do  not  explain  why  it  is  that,  when  several  states 
are  capable  of  suggesting,  and  several  capable  of  being 
suggested,  some  of  them  suggest,  and  some  are  suggested, 

*  The  Inconvenience  of  anything  lilie  a  complete  reinstatement  of  a 
past  consciousness  in  all  its  details  has  been  noticed  above  in  connec- 
tion with  the  obtrusiveness  of  local  suggestions,  and  it  will  come  under 
notice  in  other  connections.  It  receives  an  interesting  illustrative 
description  in  James's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  569-571. 


ASSOCIATION^  99 

more  easily  than  others.  The  explanation  of  this  is  to 
be  sought  in  the  Secondary  Laws ;  and  these  may  there- 
fore be  described  as  the  laws  which  determine  the  com- 
parative suggestiveness  and  suggestibility  of  mental 
states.  They  may  be  brought  under  three  heads,  inas- 
much as  they  refer  to  suggestiveness,  or  to  suggestibility, 
or  to  mutual  suggestiveness  and  suggestibility. 

i.  —  Law  of  Suggestiveness. 

States  of  mind  are  more  suggestive  in  proportion  to 
their  intensity  and  to  the  number  of  them  that 
combine  in  suggesting. 

This  law  consists  of  two  parts.  The  first  expresses 
the  fact  that,  in  the  cluster  of  mental  states  composing 
our  present  consciousness,  any  one  may  by  superior 
intensity  become  more  powerful  to  suggest  the  thoughts 
of  the  next  moment.  The  second  part  of  the  law  implies 
that  a  mental  state  of  the  present  moment  acquires  more 
suggestive  power  if  its  suggestions  are  aided  by  other 
present  states.    Each  of  these  facts  demands  explanation. 

(A)  The  first  part  of  the  law  is  seen  to  be  of  incal- 
culable importance  in  intellectual  life,  whenever  we 
define  what  is  meant  by  intensity.  The  intensity  of  a 
mental  state  is  the  degree  in  which  it  absorbs  conscious- 
ness; and  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  increased 
intensity  adds  to  the  suggestiveness  of  our  thoughts,  all 
study  —  all  intellectual  work  —  would  be  impossible. 
The  mental  attitude  called  study  is  the  concentration 
of  consciousness  on  some  object  to  the  exclusion  of 
others ;  but  this  means  the  intensification  of  the  thoughts 
relating  to  the  object  of  study.     Now  what  is  the  pur- 


100  PSYCHOLOGY 

pose  of  intensifying  these  thoughts  ?  It  is  evidently  to 
make  them  more  suggestive  than  any  of  the  other  mental 
states  which  unite  with  them  to  make  up  the  entire  con- 
sciousness of  the  moment.  If  any  passing  sound,  or  a 
stray  glance,  or  the  unceasing  sensations  of  contact,  or 
any  transient  emotion,  were  as  powerfully  suggestive  as 
the  thoughts  in  which  we  endeavour  to  absorb  our  con- 
sciousness, we  should  always  be  tormented  by  that  dis- 
traction which  we  fortunately  experience  only  at  times, 
and  the  difference  between  consecutive  and  rambling 
thought  would  be  abolished. 

The  prolonged  attitude  of  the  mind  called  study  is 
essentially  identical  with  the  briefer  act  of  voluntary 
recollection.  This  act,  as  it  involves  volition,  opens  up, 
in  its  ultimate  issues,  the  problem  in  regard  to  the  nature 
of  will;  but  this  problem  need  not  be  discussed  at 
present.  Suffice  it  to  recognise  the  fact  that  there  is  a 
certain  effort  of  the  mind  which  we  understand  by 
volition,  however  that  effort  may  be  explained.  When 
we  wish  to  recall  any  object,  such  as  a  name,  which  does 
not  suggest  itself  at  once,  we  make  such  a  voluntary 
effort.  How  do  we  succeed  in  restoring  to  consciousness 
the  object  sought  ? 

In  reproducing  any  previous  thought  we  cannot  of 
course  violate  the  laws  of  suggestion,  as  in  the  produc- 
tion of  any  physical  result  we  cannot  violate  the  laws  of 
external  nature.  But  the  productions  of  art  imply  the 
direction  of  physical  laws  towards  some  human  purpose ; 
and  so  the  mental  laws  of  suggestion  may  be  directed  by 
voluntary  effort  towards  some  end.  We  can  concentrate 
our  consciousness  on  any  thought  which  is  present ;  and 
thus  this  thought  will  be  rendered  more  suggestive  in 


ASSOCIATIOlSr  101 

virtue  of  the  law  we  are  now  considering,  so  that  every- 
thing associated  with  it  will  be  more  likely  to  be  re- 
called. There  may  thus  be  brought  up  a  whole  cluster 
of  thoughts  related  to  that  of  which  we  are  in  search. 
In  this  way  the  second  part  of  the  present  law  may  be 
brought  into  operation  too;  a  number  of  thoughts  may 
simultaneously  combine  to  direct  our  consciousness  to 
the  object  wanted.  For  example,  I  see  a  face  that  I 
know  well,  but  cannot  ^x  on  it  a  name.  I  make  an 
effort  of  recollection.  With  all  my  efforts  I  must  still 
wait  till  the  name  is  suggested  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  association;  and  therefore  the  utmost  I  can  do 
is  to  direct  the  operation  of  these  laws.  Accordingly  I 
concentrate  my  attention  on  the  face,  presented  or 
represented.  That  will  recall  possibly  the  place  where 
I  saw  it  before,  as  well  as  other  associated  circum- 
stances, till  at  last  the  desired  name  may  turn  up.^ 

It  may  be  added  that,  as  facts  locally  associated  must 
be  made  kno^vn  by  sensible  impressions,  and  as  these 
are  commonly  more  vivid  than  mere  abstractions  of 
thought,  the  superior  suggestiveness  of  local  association 
is  partially  explained  by  the  law  under  consideration. 
This  law  will  be  further  illustrated  in  a  subsequent 
chapter  by  the  striking  fact  of  the  increased  power 
which  memory  often  acquires  in  dreams. 

(B)  In  illustrating  the  first  part  of  this  law  an  in- 
stance has  been  incidentally  noticed  in  which  the  second 

*  It  often  happens,  In  the  midst  of  study,  that  we  strive  to  remember 
something  In  vain.  In  view  of  such  failure  an  useful  practical  suKSestion 
Is  given  by  several  writers.  If  the  object  sought  does  not  readily 
recur  to  the  mind.  It  Is  better  not  to  waste  the  mental  energy  In  pro- 
longing a  fruitless  effort.  A  prosecution  of  the  collateral  study  often 
leads  to  some  link  of  suggestion  by  which  the  desired  object  Is  spon- 
taneously recalled. 


;  tO^  PSYCHOLOGY 

part  is  also  called  into  play.  A  further  illustration  of 
this  part  may  be  found  by  observing  the  difference  in 
the  effects  produced  by  different  portraits.  One  por- 
trait is  said  to  be  a  striking  likeness  because  it  strikes 
or  impresses  the  mind  at  once  by  its  resemblance  to  the 
person  portrayed.  Another  portrait  is  said  to  be  a  faint 
likeness  because  it  fails  to  show  the  same  suggestive 
power.  E^ow  what  is  the  source  of  the  difference  in  the 
suggestiveness  of  the  two  portraits?  In  the  case  of  a 
striking  likeness  all,  or  most,  of  the  features  in  the 
portrait  resemble  the  corresponding  features  in  the  per- 
son portrayed,  and  consequently  the  perceptions  of  all 
these  features  combine  in  suggesting  the  person.  In 
the  other  case  there  is  perhaps  but  a  single  feature  in 
which  there  is  any  resemblance  between  the  portrait 
and  the  original,  while  even  in  that  feature  the  resem- 
blance may  be  imperfect;  so  that  there  is  possibly  but 
one  perception  capable  of  suggesting,  and  that  with 
some  hesitation,  the  person  represented.  The  process 
of  suggestion  may  in  such  cases  be  observed  very  de- 
liberately if  you  have  an  opportunity  of  standing  beside 
a  friend  of  some  artistic  skill  w^hen  he  begins  to  sketch 
a  face  or  other  object  from  memory,  while  you  do  not 
know  what  he  is  going  to  bring  out.  After  the  first  few 
strokes  of  his  pencil  suggestion  begins  to  play,  shoot- 
ing out  a  number  of  abortive  guesses,  till  at  last,  after 
an  adequate  combination  of  "  units  of  resemblance  with 
the  original,''  ^  thought  rushes  with  certainty  to  the 
artist's  aim. 

The  same  fact  is  further  illustrated  in  the  history  of 
science.     In  so  far  as  the  progress  of  science  consists  in 

^  Galton's  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  p.  5. 


ASSOCIATION  103 

the  widening  of  human  generalisation,  it  may  also  be 
said  to  consist  in  the  discovery  of  previously  undetected 
resemblances  among  the  phenomena  of  the  universe. 
Now  all  the  more  obvious  resemblances  —  the  resem- 
blances which  touch  a  considerable  number  of  features 
—  were  discovered  in  the  earliest  stages  of  scientific 
inquiry ;  it  is  the  subtler  resemblances  —  those  which 
connect  but  a  few  features,  or  only  one  —  that  are 
being  revealed  in  modern  times. ^ 

ii.  —  Law  of  Suggestibility. 

States  of  mind  are  more  suggestible  in  proportion  to 
(1)  their  recentness,  (2)  their  previous  intensity, 
and  (  3  )  the  frequency  of  their  previous  recurrence.^ 

The  three  qualities  upon  which  in  this  law  suggesti- 
bility depends  require  to  be  separately  considered. 

(A)  Recentness.  Few  facts  in  the  mental  life  of  man 
are  more  familiar  than  the  experience  that  impressions 
recently  received  are  more  readily  revived  than  those 
received  long  ago.  Every  schoolboy  knows  that  the 
lesson  he  learnt  yesterday  may  be  repeated  easily  to-day, 

»  The  combined  Influence  of  various  suggestive  circumstances  is 
treated  by  Professor  Bain  under  the  title  of  "  Compound  Association." 
The  student  Is  recommended  to  read  the  elaborate  and  Interesting 
.Illustrations  of  this  phase  of  suggestion  In  Bain's  The  Senses  and  the 
Intellect,  Part  II.,  Chap.  III. 

»  There  might  be  an  increased  exactness  gained  by  expressing  this 
law  In  the  form  :  "  Representations  are  more  likely  to  be  suggested  In 
proportion  to  the  recentness,  the  intensity,  and  the  frequency  of  recur- 
rence of  the  mental  states  of  which  they  are  representations."  Yet  It 
Is  scarcely  necessary  to  be  reminded  that,  In  suggestion,  it  Is  not  the 
prior  state  Itself  that  Is  brought  into  existence  again,  but  merely  a 
representation  of  It.  No  serious  confusion  is  likely  to  arise  from  speak- 
ing, in  accordance  with  ordinary  usage,  of  a  former  mental  state  being 
suggested  or  recalled.  - 


/ 


104  PSYCHOLOGY 

but  that  he  might  tremble  if  called  to  repeat  it  a  month 
hence. 

So  certain  is  the  law,  that  it  is  often  applied  in  medi- 
cal practice,  in  the  treatment  of  patients  suffering  from 
mental  anxiety.  Such  anxiety  commonly  arises  from 
the  mind  being  strained  to  excessive  activity  by  certain 
thoughts  and  emotions  connected  with  business  or  other 
cares  of  life,  and  it  becomes  of  the  utmost  importance 
for  mental  health  that  these  thoughts  and  emotions 
should  be  excluded  as  much  as  possible  from  conscious- 
ness. This  can  be  done  only  by  diminishing  their 
suggestibility;  and  this  effect,  again,  is  most  likely  to 
be  produced  by  occupying  the  mind  with  other  subjects 
of  a  more  suggestible  character.  Accordingly  it  is  com- 
mon to  recommend  a  change  of  scene,  so  that  the  patient 
may  receive  novel  impressions,  which,  on  account  of 
their  superior  recency,  will  be  suggested  more  readily, 
and  may  ultimately  supplant  the  old  causes  of  anxiety. 
For  this  reason  travel  is  generally  more  effective  than 
residence  in  one  place,  since,  by  repeated  change  of 
scene,  new  scope  is  continually  found  for  the  operation 
of  the  law  which  renders  mental  impressions  more 
suggestible  in  proportion  to  their  recentness. 

"  Haply  the  seas  and  countries  different, 
With  variable  objects,  shall  expel 
This  something  settled  matter  in  his  heart, 
Whereon  his  brain's  still  beating  puts  him  thus 
From  fashion  of  himself."  ^ 

There  is  an  apparent  exception  to  this  law  which 
should  not  be  overlooked.  When  the  memory  begins 
to  fail  in  old  age,  its  failure  is  observable  chiefly  in 

»  Hamlet,  Act  III.,  Scene  1. 


ASSOCIATION  105 

reference  to  recent  impressions,  while  those  of  earlier 
life  are  recalled  with  comparative  ease.  So  far  as  the 
psychologist  has  to  do  with  this  phenomenon,  it  must 
be  viewed  rather  as  an  illustration  of  the  second  part 
of  the  Law  of  Suggestibility  than  as  a  violation  of  the 
first.  In  childhood  and  youth  and  manhood  the  mind 
is  undoubtedly  more  impressible  than  in  old  age,  and 
the  impressions  of  those  earlier  times  are  accordingly 
characterised  by  greater  intensity.  It  is  therefore 
natural  that  they  should  be  suggested  more  readily 
than  the  fainter  impressions  made  upon  decaying 
powers.^ 

(B)  Intensity.  We  are  now  thus  brought  to  con- 
sider the  effect  of  this  quality  upon  the  suggestibility 
of  mental  states.  Under  the  previous  law  we  have  seen 
that  the  more  intensely  a  mental  state  absorbs  con- 
sciousness, it  becomes  invested  with  a  stronger  sugges- 
tive power.  Many  familiar  facts  may  now  be  adduced 
to  show  that  the  greater  intensity  of  a  mental  state 
makes  it  also  more  readily  suggestible  at  any  subse- 
quent time.  Thus  the  mental  attitude  of  study,  which 
was  shown  to  depend  on  the  suggestiveness  of  intense 
mental  states,  evidently  implies  also  their  suggestibility. 
For  in  the  study  of  any  subject  we  seek  not  merely  to 
direct  suggestion  for  the  moment,  but  to  store  up  the 
leading  ideas  of  the  subject  in  such  a  way  that  they 

»  The  decay  of  memory  —  amnesia  —  from  old  age,  Injury,  or  dis- 
ease is  treated  at  length  In  a  monograph  by  RIbot,  Les  Maladies  de  la 
Mcmoire.  See  especially  pp.  90-102,  181-138.  Suffice  it  to  say  here 
that,  as  in  mental  decay  generally,  it  Is  the  latest  fruits  of  culture 
that  wither  first.  The  calamity  begins  by  loss  of  rational  language, 
strange  freaks  appearing  in  connection  with  the  different  parts  of 
speech.  Then  emotional  language  —  exclamations  and  exclamatory 
phrases  —  will  be  forgotten;  and.  finally,  the  patient  can  no  longer 
recall  even  the  primitive  language  of  gesture. 


106  PSYCHOLOGY 

shall  be  readily  recalled  when  wanted  again;  and  we 
concentrate  our  mental  energy  on  these  ideas  as  in- 
tensely as  possible  in  the  conviction  that  thereby  they 
will  be  most  securely  retained  for  future  use.  We  can 
thus  understand  the  importance  of  creating  an  interest 
in  any  subject  in  order  to  successful  study.  Interest 
may  be  regarded  as  the  sum  of  the  emotions,  especially 
of  the  agreeable  emotions,  which  a  subject  excites;  and 
these  tend  always  to  excite  a  more  or  less  intense  con- 
centration of  thought  on  the  interesting  subject  in  pro- 
portion to  their  own  intensity. 

But  any  intense  emotion,  whether  joyful  or  sorrow- 
ful, tends  in  like  manner  to  direct  the  current  of  our 
thoughts.  The  unendurable  anguish  that  attaches  to 
many  an  intense  sorrow  has  its  source  in  this  law.  For 
everything  that  has  the  remotest  association  with  the 
sorrow  suggests  it  readily  on  account  of  its  superior 
intensity,  so  that  our  consciousness  is  scarcely  ever 
freed  from  its  presence,  "  we  cannot  get  it  out  of  our 
minds."  Almost  every  object  around  us,  being  sug- 
gestive of  our  grief,  comes  to  be  invested  in  its  gloom; 
the  brighter  aspects  of  nature  recall  it  by  contrast, 
the  darker  by  harmony,  and  the  whole  Avorld  appears 
gloomy  in  consequence.  All  literature  is  full  of  this 
reaction  between  the  aspects  of  external  nature  and  the 
moods  of  the  soul. 

Fortunately  the  same  cause  imparts  an  additional 
zest  to  our  intenser  joys.  In  consequence  of  their 
being  perpetually  re-suggested,  "  we  cannot  help  think- 
ing of  them ;  "  and  this  perpetual  re-suggestion  forms 
w^hat  has  been  felicitously  described  as  an  undercur- 
rent of  gladness  in  the  soul.     Our  joy  being  readily 


AssociATioisr  lor 

suggested  by  almost  any  object,  everything  around  us 
comes  to  be  lighted  up  with  its  radiance;  the  whole 
world  seems  happy. 

"Let  no  one  ask  me  how  it  came  to  pass: 
It  seems  that  I  am  happy,  that  to  me 
A  brighter  emerald  twinkles  in  the  grass, 
A  purer  sapphire  melts  into  the  sea."  ^ 

The  love-songs  of  all  literatures  represent  the  dominant 
passion  as  being  continually  reawakened  even  by  the 
most  trivial  associations,  while  it  throws  its  charm  over 
the  whole  of  nature  and  of  life;  and  all  the  other 
emotions  in  their  intenser  forms  manifest  the  same 
power.  ^ 

One  other  remark  may  be  added.  In  a  passage,  which 
may  be  recommended  to  the  student,  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill  ^ 
points  out  that  an  intense  sensibility  will  generally 
create  the  poetic  or  artistic  tendency  to  synchronous 
rather  than  successive  —  that  is,  local  rather  than  tem- 
poral —  associations.  It  thus  appears  that  local  as- 
sociations are  based  on  the  comparatively  intense 
impressions  of  sense,   and  that  in  this  fact  therefore 

^  Tennyson's  Maud,  Part  I.,  18,  6. 

2  In  this  connection  it  may  be  observed  that  Professor  James  has 
given  an  additional  factor  of  suggestibility  in  "  congruity  with  emo- 
tional tone"  (Principles  of  PsycJiology,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  576-577).  That  is 
to  say,  it  is  not  merely  the  intensity  of  the  emotional  condition  accom- 
panying a  mental  state  that  determines  its  suggestibility,  but  also  the 
congruity  of  that  condition  with  the  emotional  mood  at  the  time  of 
the  suggestion.  The  facts  here  are  somewhat  complicated.  As  we 
have  seen  above  (p.  84),  joy  and  sorrow,  joyful  and  sorrowful  thoughts, 
tend  to  suggest  one  another  by  the  power  of  contrast.  And  yet  it  does 
seem  as  if  a  mental  state  were  more  likely  to  be  suggested  when  its 
emotional  accompaniments  are  in  harmony  with  our  existing  emotional 
mood,  while  emotional  discord  forms  an  obstructive  influence  in  sug- 
gestion. Bain  has  noticed  this  among  other  obstructive  influences  in 
The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  pp.  563-504  (3d  ed.). 

»  System  of  Logic,  Boole  III.,  Chap.  XIII..  §  6.  See  also  Mill's 
Dissertations  and  Discussions,  Vol.  I.,  fourth  paper. 


108  PSYCHOLOGY 

we  have  a  partial,  if  not  complete,  explanation  of  the 
phenomenon  noticed  in  the  previous  section,  that  mental 
states  become  more  easily  suggestible  when  they  are 
linked  together  by  some  local  association. 

(C)  Frequency  of  recurrence.  This  cause  of  in- 
creased suggestibility  becomes  universally  known  in 
our  earliest  years.  When  a  child  is  set  to  learn  a  les- 
son, he  naturally  repeats  it  over  and  over  again,  con- 
fident that  by  this  artifice  it  will  be  more  readily 
suggested  to  his  mind  when  he  is  called  to  remember 
it  at  examination.  It  is  probably  this  circumstance 
also  that  mainly  constitutes  w^hat  is  understood  by 
familiarity,  an  object  that  is  described  as  familiar 
being  thereby  classed  among  those  that  are  frequently 
recurring  to  the  mind  in  the  home-life  of  a  family. 

It  is  important,  however,  to  observe  that  this  part  of 
the  Law  of  Suggestibility  is  always  conditioned  by  the 
previous  part.  For  suppose  two  boys  of  equal  ability 
set  themselves  to  learn  the  same  lesson,  one  repeating 
it  a  dozen  times  inattentively,  while  the  other  repeats 
it  but  two  or  three  times  with  intense  concentration  of 
mind,  the  chances  are  all  in  favour  of  the  latter  re- 
membering it  more  easily  afterwards. 

But  for  the  purpose  of  memory  —  that  is,  of  master- 
ing a  subject  so  as  to  retain  it  in  perpetual  possession 
—  intensity  is  valuable,  not  merely  by  its  ow^n  influ- 
ence, but  perhaps  far  more  because  it  gives  the  initial 
impetus  to  frequent  repetition.  An  intense  impres- 
sion is  readily  suggestible  again;  and  unless  this  sug- 
gestibility is  counteracted  by  persistent  voluntary  effort 
or  by  the  obstructive  power  of  new  interests,  the  im- 
pression will  continue  to  recur  on  every  suggestive  occa- 


ASSOCIATION  109 

sion.  In  common  phrase,  we  say  that  it  "  haunts  "  us, 
that  we  "  brood  "  over  it.  In  this  way,  by  frequent 
repetition,  an  impression  may  acquire  such  a  tyrannous 
suggestibility  that  we  are  at  last  unable  to  get  rid  of 
it.  It  forces  its  way  into  the  stream  of  thought,  even 
at  times  when  it  is  most  unwelcome;  and  it  may  thus 
become  a  "  fixed  idea,"  dominating  irresistibly  all  cog- 
nate spheres  of  thought.  This  extreme  result,  of  course, 
takes  on  an  aspect  of  insanity;  but  as  the  perfectly 
sane  mind,  like  the  perfectly  sound  body,  is  rather  an 
abstract  ideal  than  a  concrete  reality,  it  has  been  often 
remarked  that  there  is  a  trick  of  insanity  at  times  in 
all.  These  phenomena  which  betray  a  lapse  from  ideal 
perfection  may  range  all  the  way  from  those  trivial 
and  innocent  foibles  of  which  even  the  finest  minds  are 
occasionally  victims  to  those  pitiful  or  terrible  illusions 
which  belong  to  the  saddest  tragedies  of  mental  life. 

But  it  is  the  same  process  of  repeated  suggestion  that 
forms  a  healthy  mental  growth.  It  weaves  our  acqui- 
sitions into  the  very  fibre  of  mental  life,  and  makes 
them  at  last  an  inalienable  property  of  the  mind.  This 
arises  from  the  fact,  which  should  never  be  forgotten, 
that  the  evolution  of  mind,  like  all  evolution,  is  of  the 
nature  of  organic  growth.  Such  growth  is  necessarily 
a  gradual  process,  and  no  brief  spurt  of  violent  effort 
can  ever  secure  the  healthful  development  which  is 
promoted  only  by  slow  and  thorough  assimilation  of 
material.  And  the  perpetual  repetition  of  facts  to  the 
mind  may  be  made  a  veritable  assimilation  of  mental 
nourishment.  For  it  is  not  merely  that  the  same  fact 
appears  again  and  again;  it  reappears  generally  in 
different  associations.     By  each  new  association  it  is 


no  PSYCHOLOGY 

gradually  finding  its  proper  place  in  the  system  of 
ideas  to  which  it  is  logically  related ;  and  this  is  what 
is  meant  by  com^^rehending  it  more  fully.  Thus  its 
frequent  repetition  is  all  the  time  forming  additional 
connections  by  which  it  becomes  indissolubly  linked  to 
the  other  possessions  of  the  mind,  and  more  readily 
suggestible  whenever  it  is  wanted.  Apart  from  this 
frequent  repetition  and  extending  connection  it  is  com- 
paratively rare  that  anything  is  long  retained  in  the 
memory.  In  fact,  when  an  old  impression  comes  back 
into  conscious  life  after  having  lain  dormant  for  years, 
the  event  is  one  to  create  surprise  as  something  uncom- 
mon in  daily  mental  experience;  and  we  are  occasion- 
ally startled  to  find  that  phenomena — scenes,  incidents, 
names,  and  other  words  —  which  excited  an  intense 
interest  on  their  first  presentation  come  to  be  com- 
pletely obliterated  from  memory,  or  at  least  to  be  re- 
called only  after  many  a  baffled  endeavour,  if  they  have 
not  been  repeated  for  a  considerable  period. 

But  one  of  the  most  striking  illustrations  of  this 
effect  is  to  be  found  in  the  futility  of  the  process 
known  as  cramming,  not  only  for  higher  culture,  but 
even  for  simple  memory.  The  word  cram,  as  applied 
to  a  mental  process,  involves  a  coarse,  though  forcible 
and  obvious,  figure.  It  is  commonly  used  to  describe 
the  process  of  stuffing  facts  into  the  mind  during  a  brief 
period,  to  be  retained  for  a  limited  interval,  and  re- 
called on  a  special  emergency,  such  as  an  examination. 
To  explain  this  peculiar  phase  of  memory  it  is  neces- 
sary to  note  the  operation  of  intensity  and  repetition, 
as  well  as  of  recency,  in  the  process. 

As  far  as  intensity  is  concerned,  we  must  bear  in 


ASSOCIATION  111 

mind  that  its  real  influence  always  takes  the  form  of 
some  particular  intensifying  stimulus  which  gives  an 
interest  to  the  activity  of  the  moment.     In  the  truest 
education  it  is  the  perennial  interests  of  life  that  give 
the  impulse  to  exertion;    and  this  forms  the  general 
ground   of   warning   against   the   influence   of   motives 
which    cannot    indeed   be    altogether    eliminated    from 
educational  systems,  but  which  unfortunately  tend  to 
limit  the  interest  of  the  pupil  in  his  work  to  temporary 
or  even  very  ephemeral  ends.     This  is  inevitably  an 
effect  of  all  purely  extrinsic  rewards,  such  as  prizes 
or  even  the  mere  ranking  in  a  merit  list.     The  cram- 
mer may  have   these   attractions,   though   often  he   is 
stimulated  rather  by  the  lower  emotion  of  fear.     At 
all    events,    his    interest,    his    predominant    motive,    is 
transient.     It  is  expressly  limited  to  a  particular  oc- 
casion;   and  when  that  occasion  is  over,  the  impulse  it 
gave  collapses.     Does  not  this  often  explain  the  fact 
that  occasionally  a  student  goes  out  into  the  world  with 
an  excellent  record  of  academical  prizes  and  honours, 
but    drops    entirely   the    studies    in    which    he    gained 
distinction  ? 

This  limitation  of  the  crammer's  interest  in  his  sub- 
ject is  aggravated  by  his  method  of  study.  The  influ- 
ences of  intensity  and  repetition,  so  far  as  they  are 
applied  by  him,  are  very  seriously  impaired.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  impossible  to  sustain  mental  exertion 
at  a  high  degree  of  intensity  through  a  prolonged 
accumulation  of  multitudinous  facts.  In  the  second 
place,  the  brevity  of  time  at  his  disposal  limits  the 
crammer  in  the  repetition  of  what  he  learns.  But, 
what  is  a  far  more  serious  defect,  so  far  as  he  can 


112  PSYCHOLOGY 

take  advantage  of  repetition  at  all,  the  advantage  is 
greatly  diminished,  if  not  at  times  completely  neu- 
tralised, by  the  necessity  of  repeating  his  facts  amid 
the  same  associations  of  environment  and  the  same 
connections  of  thought,  so  that  they  form  but  few 
links  for  subsequent  suggestion.  It  thus  appears  that 
cramming  must  generally  depend  for  success  on  mere 
recency  of  impression  rather  than  on  intensity  or  repe- 
tition. But  recency,  by  its  very  nature,  cannot  last; 
and  therefore  impressions  easily  recalled  as  long  as 
they  are  fresh  generally  fade  very  soon  into  oblivion 
if  they  are  not  renewed. 

Of  course  it  is  not  to  be  overlooked  that  cramming 
has  a  perfectly  proper  function  and  therefore  a  real 
utility  in  human  life.  Every  occupation  demands  a 
certain  acquaintance  with  facts  for  purely  temporary 
purposes,  and  success  depends  on  the  mastery  of  these 
facts  so  as  to  make  them  readily  available  for  intelli- 
gence when  required.  The  lawyer,  for  example,  is 
every  day  obliged  to  commit  to  his  memory  for  a  brief 
period  facts  which  are  not  only  destitute  of  intrinsic 
interest  or  importance,  but  often  in  themselves  so  ut- 
terly insipid,  or  even  nauseous,  that  it  is  a  relief  to 
be  able  to  sweep  the  whole  rubbish  out  of  the  way  of 
his  daily  thoughts  as  quickly  as  possible.  In  such  cases 
the  faculty  of  cramming  comes  to  be  of  valuable  ser- 
vice because  it  implies  a  power  not  only  of  rapidly 
committing  to  memory,  but  also  of  rapidly  forgetting. 

But  the  training  of  this  faculty  is  not  ignored. 
The  daily  necessities  of  educational  methods,  however 
perfect,  give  incidentally  sufficient  opportunity  for 
developing  a  power  of  committing  to  memory  merely 


AssociATio:^r  113 

for  the  temporary  purposes  of  scholastic  work.  The 
danger,  in  fact,  is  all  in  the  direction  of  giving  an 
unfortunate  encouragement  to  the  training  of  this 
power  at  the  cost  of  a  higher  intellectual  culture. 
Though  reforms  are  in  progress,  prohably  educational 
methods  trust  too  largely  still  to  the  repetition  of  les- 
sons hurriedly  conned  but  a  few  hours,  sometimes  but 
a  few  minutes,  before  the  meeting  of  a  class.  The 
effect  of  this  upon  intellectual  training  is  aggravated 
by  the  extensive  adoption  of  mere  examinations  as  tests 
of  fitness,  not  only  for  academical  distinction,  but  also 
for  many  of  the  lucrative  occupations  of  life.  If 
under  such  influences  cramming  were  to  become  the 
habitual  plan  of  mental  activity,  we  should  be  doomed 
to  stand  by  the  shore  of  the  great  ocean  of  truth, 
not  like  Newton  to  pick  up  a  precious  pebble  here 
and  there,  but  to  ply  the  hopeless  task  of  the  daugh- 
ters of  Danaus  by  trying  to  draw  its  waters  in  a 
sieve. 

The  Law  of  Suggestibility  may  be  further  illustrated 
by  a  peculiar  difference  in  the  memory  of  different' 
persons.  It  has  often  been  pointed  out  that  memory 
implies  both  a  capacity  of  retaining  knowledge  and  a 
faculty  of  recalling  it;  and  therefore  it  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  find  men  who  by  their  retentive  capacity  have 
accumulated  vast  stores  of  learning,  and  are  yet  gifted 
with  comparatively  little  readiness  in  recalling  it  when 
wanted,  though  it  is  more  common  to  meet  with  those 
who  exhibit  great  quickness  in  reproducing  compara- 
tively slender  acquirements.  This  familiar  distinction 
between  retentive  and  ready  memories  is,  partially  at 
least,  explained  by  the  different  conditions  of  suggesti- 

8 


lU  PSYCHOLOGY 

bility ;  for,  as  some  psychologists  have  already  observed, 
rctcntiveness  is  cultivated  mainly  by  intense  concentra- 
tion of  the  mind  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  while 
readiness  is  attained  rather  by  frequent  repetition  of 
what  has  been  learnt.  As  the  reproduction  of  w^hat 
we  have  already  mastered  is  an  easier  and  pleasanter 
occupation  than  the  task  of  mastering  what  is  yet 
unknown,  it  is  not  difficult  to  understand  why  memo- 
ries of  comparative  readiness  should  be  met  with  more 
frequently  than  those  of  vast  extent.  Readiness,  more- 
over, though  often  combined  with  extremely  limited 
attainments,  yet  produces  in  the  popular  mind  the  most 
striking  and  intelligible  impression  of  mental  power, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  absence  of  quickness  in 
recollection  may  create  an  appearance  of  mental  slow- 
ness, of  dulness,  in  men  of  great  erudition;  and  this 
contrast  may  account  for  the  popular  illusion,  which 
is  fortunately  contradicted  by  many  conspicuous  ex- 
amples, that  great  memories  are  incompatible  with 
great  intellects.-^ 

iii.  —  Law  of  Mutual  Suggestiveness  and  Suggestibility. 

The  drift  of  this  law  admits  of  its  being  appropri- 
ately described  also  as  the  Law  of  Uniform  Association. 
It  may  be  expressed  as  follows :  — 

*  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  who  expresses  this  distinction  by  his  Con- 
servative (or  Retentive)  and  Reproductive  Faculties,  adduces  a  num- 
ber of  philosophers,  ancient  and  modern,  by  whom  the  distinction  has 
been  recognised.  See  his  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Lect.  XXX. ;  and 
compare  Stewart's  Elements,  Chap.  VI.  Both  of  these  passages  may 
be  recommended  to  the  student  for  their  abundant  illustration,  not 
only  of  this  distinction,  but  of  other  interesting  facts  connected  with 
memory.  Chap.  XVI.  in  James's  Principles  of  Psychology  is  also  worthy 
of  study  on  this  subject,  especially  in  the  light  of  later  psychology. 


ASSOCIATION^  115 

States  of  mind  are  more  likely  to  suggest  each  other  in 
proj:)ortion  to  the  uniformity  of  their  previous  as- 
sociation, and  in  the  order  in  which  they  have 
been  associated. 

It  may  not  be  without  use  to  distinguish  here  between 
this  law  and  the  third  part  of  the  previous  law.  A 
mental  state  may  frequently  recur  in  consciousness 
without  being  always  associated  with  the  same  mental 
state;  and  this  frequent  recurrence,  even  in  different 
associations,  will  render  it  more  suggestible  than  at  first 
by  any  suggestive  circumstance.  But  if  its  frequent 
recurrence  has  been  due  to  its  association  with  the  same 
cause,  then  the  likelihood  of  its  being  suggested  when- 
ever that  cause  makes  its  appearance  will  be  greatly 
increased,  and  increased  in  proportion  to  the  uniform- 
ity with  which  it  has  been  previously  associated  with 
that  cause.  It  follow^s  also  from  this  law  that  if  a 
mental  state  A  has  been  associated  very  frequently  with 
a  second  B,  and  only  at  occasional  intervals  Avith  a  third 
C,  then,  unless  some  other  law  of  suggestion  intervene, 
B  is  more  likely  than  C  to  be  suggested  by  A. 

The  full  exposition  of  this  law  can  be  found  only  in 
later  analyses;  but  here  it  may  be  observed  that  a 
simple  instance  of  its  operation  is  met  with  in  learn- 
ing a  passage  by  heart.  In  this  process  not  only  do 
we  repeat  the  words  frequently,  but  we  repeat  them  in 
the  same  connections,  so  that  each  preceding  word  be- 
comes attached  in  our  consciousness  to  each  succeeding 
word  with  a  certain  degree  of  uniformity.  As  this 
uniformity  increases,  there  grows  a  stronger  tendency 
in   each   preceding   to   suggest   each   succeeding   word. 


116  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  strength  of  this  tendency  is  often  exhibited  by 
speakers,  when  they  quote  a  passage,  inadvertently 
dragging  in  its  context,  even  though  it  may  have  no 
logical  connection  with  the  point  to  illustrate  which  the 
quotation  was  made.  We  say  that  they  have  become 
habituated  to  connect  the  context  with  the  text;  and 
it  will  appear  by  and  by,  that  the  strength  of  habit  is 
due  to  the  power  of  suggestion  arising  from  the  uni- 
form association  of  the  suggesting  and  suggested  states 
of  mind. 

It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  the  tendency 
arising  from  uniform  association  manifests  its  strength 
merely  in  the  order  of  the  association.  A  familiar 
illustration  is  experienced  in  the  difficulty  of  repeating 
backwards  the  alphabet  or  any  familiar  passage  in 
literature,  compared  with  the  mechanical  ease  with 
which  it  may  be  repeated  in  the  right  direction. 

There  is  an  extreme  case  of  this  law  which  demands 
special  consideration.  When  an  association  of  mental 
states  has  attained  the  highest  degree  of  uniformity, 
has  reached  or  approached  absolute  invariability,  there 
arises  an  effect  of  such  a  peculiar  nature  that  it  could 
scarcely  have  been  anticipated  from  the  Law  of  Uni- 
form Association.  The  suggestion  resulting  from  such 
an  invariable  association  becomes  irresistible  and  in- 
stantaneous. When  in  all  our  ordinary  experience  two 
states  of  mind,  A  and  B,  have  been  uniformly  asso- 
ciated for  a  while,  A  acquires  such  a  power  of  suggest- 
ing B,  and  B  such  a  power  of  being  suggested  by  A, 
that  it  no  longer  remains  a  matter  of  choice  with  us 
whether  the  suggestion  shall  take  place  or  not;  it  be- 
comes  irresistible.      But   it  becomes   instantaneous   as 


ASSOCIATIOISr  117 

well:  there  is  no  appreciable  interval  between  the 
suggesting  and  the  suggested  states;  the  latter  rushes 
into  consciousness  like  a  flash  of  immediate  intuition, 
and  we  fail  to  observe  that  it  is  given  merely  through 
the  medium  of  the  former,  which  generally  passes 
unnoticed. 

Although  this  phenomenon  is  in  reality  merely  an 
extreme  form  of  the  Law  of  Uniform  Association,  yet 
it  is  at  once  so  striking  in  its  character,  and  of  such 
significance  as  affording  a  clue  to  many  otherwise  in- 
explicable facts,  that  it  is  deserving  of  separate  recog- 
nition. It  may  accordingly  be  distinguished,  from  one 
point  of  view,  as  the  Law  of  Invariable  Association^^ 
from  another  point  of  view,  as  the  Law  of  Irresistible 
and  Instantaneous  Suggestion.  The  drift  of  this  law 
is  indicated  in  the  following  expression :  — 

States  of  mind  which  have  long  been  invariably  or 
almost  invariably  associated  suggest  each  other 
irresistibly  and  instantaneously  in  the  order  in 
which  tliev  have  been  associated. 

!N'umerous  illustrations  of  this  law  will  be  found  in 
the  phenomena  which  form  the  subject  of  Special  Psy- 
chology. Those  facts  of  mental  life  which  the  old 
psychologists  were  wont  to  describe,  and  which  are  still 
described  in  popular  language,  as  faculties  or  capaci- 
tieSy  are  all  evolved  in  accordance  with  this  law.  It 
is  by  the  operation  of  this  law,  in  fact,  that  we  develop 
every  form  of  what  is  understood  by  skill,  dexterity, 
expertness,  knack,  tact,  trick,  turn,  craft,  cunning,  — 

*  Some  writers  have  employed  the  less  unexceptionable  term,  Insep- 
arable Association. 


118  PSYCHOLOGY 

excellence,  in  short,  of  every  kind,  science,  art,  virtue, 
—  so  far  at  least  as  these  are  acquired.  The  growth 
of  mind  in  every  direction  of  its  activities  is  the  evo- 
lution of  these  acquirements.  They  may  all  be  com- 
prehended under  the  general  name  of  hah  it;  and  it 
is  these  that  make  every  man  what  he  distinctively  is. 
Man  has  therefore  been  well  called  by  Paley  ^  "  a 
bundle  of  habits." 

A  habit  is  a  tendency  in  certain  actions  to  recur, 
which  is  acquired  by  repeated  occurrence.  It  differs, 
in  the  fact  of  its  being  acquired,  from  an  instinct, 
which  is  a  tendency  of  the  same  sort,  born  with  the 
individual.  The  influence  of  continued  repetition  in 
producing  tendencies  to  action  similar  to  those  that  are 
inborn  must  have  been  known  from  the  beginning  of 
human  life,  as  it  forms  the  basis  of  even  the  most 
rudimentary  training  or  education.  In  fact,  the  very 
essence  of  what  we  understand  by  training  or  educa- 
tion is  the  persistent  rej)etition  of  a  series  of  actions, 
so  that  w^e  may  acquire  ease  and  skill  in  their  perform- 
ance. The  value  of  such  persistent  repetition  is  evinced 
in  the  fact  that  it  is  necessary  not  only  for  the  acqui- 
sition of  a  habit,  but  for  its  maintenance  in  continued 
vigour.  All  know  that  they  are  apt  to  become  "  rusty," 
even  in  fields  of  work  which  have  been  long  familiar, 
if  they  allow  themselves  to  fall  "  out  of  practice." 
Consequently,  for  any  special  test  of  dexterity  pru- 
dence usually  requires  a  renewal  of  training,  that  the 
old  attainments  may  be  kept  at  their  best. 

The  importance  of  such  training  is  evinced  still  fur- 
ther in  the  fact  that  it  applies  not  only  to  the  dexteri- 

*  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy,  Book  I.,  Chap.  VII. 


ASSOCIATION  119 

ties  which  it  has  originally  created,  but  to  those  also 
which  are  inborn.  For  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
instincts  are  ineradicable  or  invariable.  Even  among 
the  lower  animals  an  instinct  may  simply  disappear 
in  an  environment  which  does  not  call  it  into  play,  or 
it  may  be  supplanted  by  the  training  of  a  counterac- 
tive habit. ^  In  man,  therefore,  whatever  value  may  be 
attached  to  his  native  instincts  in  determining  his  life, 
there  is  no  biological  ground  for  maintaining  that  they 
cannot  be  overcome.  It  may  be,  as  some  biologists 
maintain,  that  many,  if  not  all,  instincts  are  simply 
ancestral  habits  inherited.  If  so,  then  there  is  a  scien- 
tific reason  for  expecting  that  adequate  training  may 
develop  acquired  habits  powerful  enough  to  counteract 
the  inherited.  It  is  certainly  a  matter  of  daily  experi- 
ence that  acquired  habits,  like  that  of  indulging  in 
alcohol  or  opium,  may  supplant  the  deepest  instincts 
of  human  nature.  Even  common  language  recognises 
the  fact  that  the  second  nature  formed  by  habit  may 
equal  the  first  nature  embodied  in  instinct.  Thus 
expressions  like  ivell-hred,  ill-hred,  underbred,  good- 
nature, ill-nature,  do  not  by  any  means  imply  that  the 
person  of  whom  they  are  spoken  is  ''  to  the  manner 
born;  "  while  what  we  understand  by  gentlemayily  in- 
stincts are  often  simply  habits  of  thought  and  senti- 
ment that  have  been  trained  by  a  long  course  of 
gentlemanly  conduct. 

At  the  same  time  the  comparative  influence  of  in- 

*  Of  both  these  effects  a  larjje  number  of  illustrative  examples  are 
given  in  the  celebrated  article  of  Mr.  Spalding  on  Instinct  in  Macmil- 
lan's  Maifazine  for  February.  1S73,  and  in  the  interesting  chapters  on 
Instinct  In  Romanes's  Mental  Evnhiiion  in  Animals.  Compare  James's 
Principles  of  Psycholoyy,  Chap.  XXIV. 


120  PSYCHOLOGY 

stinct  and  habit  is  a  problem  not  easy  to  solve.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  is  a  variable  proportion,  —  a  propor- 
tion that  varies  not  only  in  different  persons,  but  even 
in  the  same  person  at  different  times.  The  facts 
therefore  have  been  variously  interpreted  by  different 
thinkers;  and  the  conflicting  interpretations  have  en- 
tered as  a  prominent  factor  into  great  historical  con- 
troversies, like  that  of  Augustinianism  and  Pelagianism 
in  early  Christendom,  of  Calvinists  and  Arminians,  of 
the  Jansenists  and  the  Jesuits,  in  the  modern  world.^ 

Habit,  then,  presents  a  problem  for  the  psychologist 
in  the  fact  that  a  tendency  to  perform  certain  actions 
is  created  by  repeating  them  frequently  before.  AVlien 
we  begin  to  acquire  a  habit  or  dexterity,  we  perform 
deliberately,  slowly,  and  in  general  with  difficulty,  the 
actions  which  it  implies ;  but  gradually  by  frequent 
repetition  —  by  practice,  as  it  is  commonly  expressed 
—  the  difficulty,  slowness,  and  deliberation  with  which 
the  actions  were  done  at  first  give  way  to  ease,  rapidity, 
and  unconsciousness.  The  actions  are  then  described 
at  times  as  being  done  instinctively,  from  their  resem- 
blance to  the  results  which  nature  produces  in  us  with- 
out any  conscious  volition  on  our  part;  while  their 
resemblance  to  the  regular,  easy,  unintelligent  work- 
ings of  a  machine  leads  us  to  speak  of  them  also  as 
being  done  mechanically.  In  learning  to  read,  for  ex- 
ample, the  child  at  first  familiarises  himself  slowly 
with  the  sound  of  every  letter,  slowly  acquires  the 
power  of  recognising  the  sounds  of  different  combina- 
tions, of  spelling  syllable  by  syllable  and  word  by  word, 

*  The  relation  of  inherited  instinct  to  trained  habit  is  brought  out 
by  Horace  with  his  usual  lyrical  force  in  Odes,  IV.,  4,  27-36. 


ASSOCIATION  121 

till  he  is  able  to  recognise  at  a  glance  entire  words 
without  the  previous  painful  labour  of  spelling  each 
letter,  entire  clauses  and  sentences  without  dwelling 
upon  each  word,  and  even  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
whole  pages  when  they  are  merely  run  over  in  a  hur- 
ried glance.  The  same  process  is  observed  in  learning 
to  walk,  to  speak,  to  sing,  to  play  on  a  musical  instru- 
ment, to  direct  pencil  or  chisel  or  sword,  and  generally 
in  acquiring  all  those  arts  that  are  necessary  for  ex- 
istence or  for  the  enjoyment  of  life. 

The  peculiar  problem  of  these  phenomena  is  solved 
mainly  by  the  Law  of  Irresistible  and  Instantaneous 
Suggestion.  Of  course  in  the  acquisition  of  a  habit 
that  is  interesting  the  mind  wdll  naturally  be  occupied 
with  some  degree  of  intensity,  while  the  mere  repeti- 
tion of  an  action  tends  to  make  it  more  easily  suggested, 
w^hether  it  has  entered  into  any  uniform  association 
with  others  or  not.  But  the  tendency  in  a  series  of 
phenomena  to  recur,  which  constitutes  a  habit,  is 
created  by  the  general  fact  that  one  phenomenon  tends 
to  be  suggested  by  another  more  readily  in  proportion 
to  the  uniformity  with  which  the  former  has  already 
been  suggested  in  association  with  the  latter.  Take,  by 
way  of  illustration,  the  learning  of  a  language,  native 
or  foreign.  In  learning  to  understand  the  language, 
we  associate  sounds  with  ideas,  so  that  after  a  while 
the  latter  come  to  be  suggested  irresistibly  and  instan- 
taneously by  the  former.  On  the  other  hand,  in  learn- 
ing to  speak  the  language  it  is  necessary,  first  of  all, 
to  associate  ideas  with  articulate  sounds,  so  that  the 
former  will  suggest  the  latter ;  but  the  suggested  sounds 
must  further  be  associated  with  the  remembered  sensa- 


122  PSYCHOLOGY 

tions  of  the  muscular  effort   in  the   vocal  organs  by 
which  the  sounds  are  produced. 

We  are  thus  in  a  position  to  explain  the  peculiar 
circumstance  connected  with  our  habits,  that  we  be- 
come capable  of  performing  a  series  of  actions  without 
being  conscious  of  the  individual  actions  in  the  series, 
but  merely  of  the  series  as  a  whole.  When  a  habit  is 
confirmed,  w^hen  any  dexterity  is  perfectly  mastered, 
each  antecedent  in  the  series  of  actions  involved  be- 
comes so  indissolubly  associated  with  each  consequent 
as  to  suggest  it  irresistibly  and  instantaneously.  Now 
to  excite  consciousness  any  stimulus  must  fulfil  certain 
conditions.  It  must  not  only  reach  a  certain  intensity, 
but  it  must  endure  for  a  certain  length  of  time.  The 
duration  necessary  to  excite  consciousness  varies  evi- 
dently for  different  organs  in  the  same  person,  for  the 
same  organ  in  different  persons,  and  even  for  the  same 
organ  in  the  same  person  at  different  times.  In  taste 
and  smell  sensations  are  very  soon  confounded,  even 
when  they  do  not  follow  each  other  in  very  rapid  suc- 
cession. The  higher  senses  themselves,  though  their 
sensations  are  much  more  quickly  distinguishable,  are 
subject  to  the  same  condition.  In  hearing,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  when  vibrations  reach  a  greater  rapidity 
than  about  forty  in  a  second,  they  become  fused  into 
one  tone.  Even  in  the  most  intellectual  of  the  senses  a 
rapid  series  of  impressions  results  in  a  similar  fusion. 
Thus  the  appearance  of  a  circle  of  light  may  be  pro- 
duced by  whirling  a  lighted  point  with  sufficient  velo- 
city before  the  eyes;  the  sensation  of  white  light  may 
be  excited  by  a  similar  movement  of  the  colours  of  the 
spectrum  into  which  it  is  decomposed.     Striking  optical 


ASSOCIATION  123 

effects  of  a  similar  kind  are  produced  by  a  variety  of 
interesting  scientific  toys,  and  in  recent  years  they  have 
become  familiar  on  a  large  scale  in  the  popular  exhi- 
bitions of   the   kinetoscope. 

In  all  such  fusion  of  different  impressions  the  same 
cause  may  be  traced.  Before  each  prior  impression  has 
died  away,  or  even  before  each  prior  stimulus  has  had 
time  to  excite  distinct  consciousness,  the  next  super- 
venes. The  resultant  consciousness  is  therefore  the 
consciousness,  not  of  any  single  impression  in  the 
series,  but  of  them  all  blended  together.  Xow  this  is 
precisely  the  phenomenon  that  is  witnessed  when  a 
series  of  actions  are  performed  with  the  velocity  char- 
acteristic of  habits  and  dexterities.  The  indistinguish- 
ability  of  the  individual  actions  —  their  fusion  in  a 
general  consciousness  of  the  series  as  a  whole  —  is  a 
result  of  the  rapidity,  the  instantaneousness,  with  which 
suggestion  takes  place  when  it  is  based  on  a  prolonged 
association  of  an  uniform  kind. 

It  thus  appears  that  actions  originally  voluntary 
may,  by  frequent  repetition  for  a  length  of  time,  be 
removed  from  the  sphere  of  human  will  into  the  sphere 
of  those  natural  forces  that  form  the  human  constitu- 
tion. From  the  physiological  point  of  view  these  phe- 
nomena are  described  as  actions  of  the  nervous  system 
which  work  out  their  results  in  human  life  without 
exciting  consciousness.  It  is  a  problem  for  the  physi- 
ologist to  explain  how  nerve-tissues,  which  at  first  adapt 
themselves  only  with  difficulty  to  certain  movements, 
become  so  pliable,  after  repeated  practice  of  the  move- 
ments, that  these  are  performed  with  mechanical  ease. 
Probably  the  nutrition  of  the  tissues  is  so  directed  that 


124  PSYCHOLOGY 

their  structure  becomes  modified  in  adaptation  to  the 
repeated  movements.  It  is  in  fact  obvious,  even  to  one 
simply  observing  his  own  sensations,  that  when  certain 
currents  of  the  blood  and  currents  of  nerve-force  have 
been  prolonged  for  a  while  by  the  repetition  of  a  series 
of  movements,  they  often  continue  their  course  for 
hours  after  the  movements  have  ceased.  But  whatever 
explanation  physiology  may  give,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  the  fact  that  actions  in  the  nervous  and  muscular 
systems  which  at  first  are  performed  with  deliberate 
and  even  painfully  conscious  efforts  of  volition  come 
to  be  carried  on  automatically  after  a  while.  This 
phenomenon  is  accordingly  described  as  automatic  or 
reflex  action;  and  as  even  some  of  the  higher  mental 
operations  may  be  thus  by  habitual  exercise  withdrawn 
from  the  region  of  conscious  effort  into  the  control  of 
the  highest  nerve-centres  in  the  brain,  it  has  become 
customary  of  recent  years  to  recognise  a  process  of 
"  imconscious  cerebration." 

The  significance  of  habit  will  thus  be  evident.  With- 
out it  life  would  be  impossible.  If,  after  repeating  an 
action  a  thousand  times,  we  could  not  perform  it  more 
easily  or  more  quickly  than  when  it  was  performed  for 
the  first  time,  we  should  never  be  able  to  get  through 
the  work  of  a  single  day,  we  should  remain  in  helpless 
infancy  all  our  lives.  In  mental  life  especially  we 
should  be  in  the  condition  of  those  who  are  stigmatised 
as  ^^  ever  learning,  and  never  able  to  come  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth."  But  habit  has  another  aspect.  As 
life  is  a  process  of  growth,  it  cannot  without  fatal  re- 
sults be  arrested  by  the  force  even  of  habits  that  were 
originally  good,   while   evil  habits   represent,   not   the 


ASSOCIATION  125 

gro\vth  of  life  into  maturer  forms,  but  a  process  of 
decay  which  can  lead  only  to  death.  Accordingly  the 
habits  which  men  train  form,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
boon  with  which  all  beneficent  action  is  sure  to  be  re- 
warded, and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  penalty  to  which 
all  evil  action  is  with  certainty  doomed.  It  is  therefore 
in  the  phenomena  thus  brought  under  the  general  Law 
of  Irresistible  and  Instantaneous  Suggestion  that  the 
great  moral  and  religious  teachers  of  the  world  have 
found  the  inevitable  fact  of  retribution  which  rules 
with  an  unfailing  justice  all  the  actions  of  men,  —  a 
fact  which  has  often  been  expressed  by  the  singularly 
appropriate  figure  implied  in  the  statement  that  '^  what- 
soever a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap." 


CHAPTER    11. 


COMPARISON. 


I  IT  our  consciousness  mental  states  appear,  not  in  ab- 
solute isolation  from  each  other,  but  in  manifold 
relations;  and  mental  life  consists,  not  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  isolated  states,  but  in  the  consciousness  of  the 
relations  which  they  hold  one  to  another.  The  con- 
sciousness of  relations  is  always,  in  its  essential  nature, 
an  act  of  comparison;  the  related  phenomena  must  be 
compared  in  order  to  the  discovery  of  their  relations. 
The  term  comparison  may  not  fully  express  all  that  is 
involved  in  the  mental  act  under  consideration;  but 
it  implicitly  denotes  all  that  is  understood,  inasmuch 
as  there  cannot  be  a  comparison  without  a  consciousness 
of  some  relation  between  the  objects  compared.  There 
are  some  features  of  resemblance  between  comparison 
and  suggestion;  but  a  confusion  of  the  two  would  lead 
to  a  very  radical  misapprehension  regarding  mental 
phenomena.  It  is  desirable  therefore  to  make  clear  the 
distinction  between  the  two  processes. 

The  two  resemble  one  another  in  the  fact  that  both 
require  two  mental  states  in  order  to  their  possibility. 
Suggestion  always  implies  a  suggesting  and  a  suggested 
state  of  mind,  while  comparison  supposes  two  things  to 
be  compared.  There  is  a  further  resemblance  in  the 
fact  that  both  acts  imply  a  relation  between  the  two 


COMPAEISON  127 

states  which  they  presuppose.  In  connection  with  the 
Primary  Laws  of  Suggestion,  it  was  showTi  that  two 
mental  states  must  be  related  by  similarity  or  conti- 
guity before  they  can  suggest  each  other;  and  it  is 
still  more  obvious  that  in  being  compared  they  are 
brought  into  relation. 

But  there  are  two  important  differences  which  dis- 
tinguish comparison  and  suggestion.  The  first  is,  that 
suggestion  implies  a  sequence,  —  a  transition  from  the 
suggesting  to  the  suggested  state;  while,  in  order  to 
the  very  possibility  of  comparison,  the  phenomena 
compared  must  be  simultaneously  present  to  conscious- 
ness. Besides,  there  is  a  second  and  more  radical  dif- 
ference —  it  is  the  essential  difference  —  between  the 
two  acts.  In  suggestion  we  are  conscious  of  the  one 
related  state,  then  of  the  other,  the  relation  forming 
merely  an  unconscious  bond  of  connection  between 
them;  whereas  the  distinctive  nature  of  comparison 
consists  in  its  being  a  consciousness  of  the  relation 
between  the  related  states. 

Comparison  may  thus  be  defined  a  knowledge  of  rela- 
tions. As  such  it  is  the  highest  function  of  mind;  it 
implies  not  only  the  capacity  of  receiving  impressions, 
and  of  allowing  these  unreflectingly  to  repeat  them- 
selves in  the  order  and  connections  determined  by  their 
accidental  associations  in  consciousness;  it  implies  fur- 
ther the  faculty  of  cognising,  beyond  the  separate  im- 
pressions, the  relation  in  which  they  stand  to  each 
other.  This  is  the  faculty  which  is  understood  by  the 
various  expressions  descriptive  of  mind  in  its  highest 
aspects,  —  Thought,  Understanding,  Judgment,  Intel- 
lect, Reason. 


128  PSYCHOLOGY 

To  the  full  explanation  of  comparison  it  would  be 
necessary  to  unfold  all  the  relations  which  it  is  capable 
of  discovering.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to  describe 
these  at  present  without  entering  upon  problems  which 
must  be  reserved  for  subsequent  discussion.  But  with- 
out anticipating  this  discussion  it  may  be  observed  that 
there  are  two  fundamental  relations  which,  if  not  the 
type  of  all  others,  form  at  least  the  basis  of  all  knowl- 
edge. These  are  the  relations  of  Identity  and  Differ- 
ence. The  consciousness  of  the  former  is  technically 
called  an  Affirmative  Judgment;  that  of  the  latter,  a 
^Negative  Judgment.  It  will  soon  be  seen  that  these 
judgments  enter  into  all  our  knowledge,  and  that  every 
step  taken  in  the  extension  of  our  knowledge  implies 
the  discovery  of  some  identity  which  had  not  been 
detected  before,  or  of  some  difference  between  things 
which  had  been  formerly  confounded. 

Such  acts  of  judgment  or  comparison,  in  which  phe- 
nomena are  identified  and  discriminated,  are  governed 
by  laws.  These  laws  in  their  supreme  form  are  three, 
which  are  accordingly  named  the  General  Laws  of 
Thought.  Though  it  may  seem  paradoxical  to  say  so, 
the  chief  difficulty  which  is  experienced  in  understand- 
ing the  purport  of  these  laws  arises  probably  from  their 
excessive  simplicity.  They  are  such  obvious  truisms 
that  there  seems  almost  an  insult  to  intelligence  in 
their  mere  statement;  and  accordingly  there  is  a  temp- 
tation to  seek  some  more  profound  meaning  in  them 
than  that  which  they  show  on  their  surface.  But  the 
laws  which  form  the  elementary  principles  of  all  think- 
ing must  be  so  utterly  evident  that  nothing  more  evi- 
dent  can   be    conceived,  —  so    absolutely    certain    that 


COMPAEISON  129 

nothing  more  certain  can  be  adduced  either  for  their 
proof  or  for  their  dis2:>roof. 

The  following,  then,  are  the  General  Laws  of 
Thought :  — 

I.  The  Law  of  Identity  is  popularly  expressed  in 
the  formula,  Whatever  is,  is;  more  technically  in  the 
formula,  A  is  A,  Its  purport,  as  a  law  of  thought,  will 
probably  be  better  understood  by  the  following  state- 
ment: Whatever  is  thought  must  he  thought  to  he  that 
which  it  is  thought. 

II.  The  Law  of  Contradiction ,  as  it  is  commonly 
called,  or  the  Law  of  N on-C ontradiction,  as  it  has  been 
perhaps  more  appro2:)riately  called,  is  expressed  in  the 
popular  formula.  It  is  impossible  for  a  thing  to  he  and 
not  to  he  at  the  same  time,  sometimes  in  the  technical 
formula,  A  is  not  non-A.  The  purport  of  the  law  may 
be  more  clearly  indicated  by  the  statement:  Whatever 
is  thought  cannot  he  thought  not  to  he  that  which  it  is 
thought. 

III.  The  Law  of  Excluded  Middle  is  so  called  be- 
cause by  it  a  middle  or  third  alternative  is  excluded 
between  two  contradictory  judgments,  inasmuch  as  one 
of  these  must  always  be  in  thought  affirmed,  the  other 
in  thought  denied.  This  law  is  not,  like  the  other  two, 
known  by  any  familiar  statement.  Its  technical  ex- 
pression is  the  formula,  A  either  is  or  is  not  B;  but 
perhaps  the  following  formula  may  explain  it  more 
distinctly:  Of  whatever  is  thought  anything  else  that 
is  thinhahle  must  either  he  or  not  he  thought. 

The  science  which  expounds  these  laws  in  all  their 
subordinate  applications  is  Logic.  The  function  of 
Logic   is,   therefore,   to   discover   the   norm   by   which 

9 


130  PSYCHOLOGY 

thought  should  be  regulated.  It  is  not,  however,  with 
normal  but  with  actual  thinking  that  psychology  has  to 
do ;  and  we  shall  find,  as  we  proceed,  that  the  problems 
of  the  two  sciences  have  sometimes  been  unnecessarily 
complicated  by  not  being  kept  distinct. 


BOOK    11. 

SPECIAL   PSYCHOLOGY. 

THE  beginning  of  life  in  all  its  phases  forms  still 
an  unsolved  problem  for  science.  It  seems  al- 
ways impossible  to  describe  life  as  beginning  in  any 
terms  which  do  not  assume  that  it  was  in  existence 
before.  This  perplexity  is  experienced  in  the  quest 
after  a  beginning  of  mental  life,  as  well  as  of  life  in 
other  forms,  whether  we  are  tracing  mental  life  m 
general  or  the  distinctive  mental  life  of  man  in  par- 
ticular. Eor  the  race  the  history  of  its  mental  life  is 
very  soon  lost  in  a  prehistoric  past,  while  the  growth 
of  the  individual  mind  takes  us  back  likewise  into  a 
past  that  may  be  described  as  pre-biographical.  Here, 
therefore,  the  beginnings  of  life  have  to  be  constructed 
from  the  facts  of  mental  development  that  lie  within 
our  ken  on  the  open  fields  of  biography  and  history. 
It  is  this  observable  development  that  we  have  now  to 
trace. 

In  the  previous  Book  we  have  examined  those  ele- 
mentary products  of  natural  sensibility  which  have 
been  called  the  raw  materials  of  mind,  as  well  as  the 
processes  by  which  these  arc  wrought  into  the  com- 
binations which  form  the  actual  mental  life.  These 
combinations  assume  three  fundamental  types,   which 


132  PSYCHOLOGY 

arc  usually  distinguished  by  the  names  of  Cognition, 
Feeling,  and  Volition.  Those  different  types  of  mental 
life  arise  from  the  development  of  three  different  as- 
pects which  elementary  sensations  present.  For  these 
may  be  viewed  as  sources  either  of  (1)  information, 
or  (2)  of  pleasurable  and  painful  excitement,  or  (3) 
of  impulse  to  action.  The  vigour  of  these  aspects  of 
sensation,  as  we  shall  find  in  the  course  of  our  in- 
quiries, varies  greatly  in  different  minds,  partly  from 
variety  of  natural  constitution,  partly  from  variety  of 
habitual  training.  But  in  so  far  as  the  first  aspect 
of  sensation  is  developed  in  any  mental  combination, 
the  resultant  consciousness  is  a  cognition;  the  devel- 
opment of  the  second  aspect  gives  rise  to  feeling  or 
emotion,  while  volition  is  evolved  from  the  third. 
These  three  aspects  of  sensation  may  therefore  be  de- 
scribed as  the  intellectual  or  cognitional,  the  emotional, 
and  the  volitional.^ 

The  evolution,  therefore,  of  those  mental  combina- 
tions which  form  the  intellect,  the  emotions,  and  the 
will  of  man,  is  determined  by  the  readiness  with  which 
sensations  submit  to  the  two  processes  of  association 
and  comparison.  'Now  association  involves  both  a  sug- 
gesting and  a  suggested  state  of  mind ;   and  accordingly 

^  Though  the  germ  of  this  threefold  classification  is  by  some  writers 
traced  as  far  back  as  the  Timaeus  of  Plato,  yet  it  seems  to  have  taken 
definite  form  first  among  the  writers  of  the  Leibnitio-Wolfian  School 
about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  especially  Meier.  Moses 
Mendelssohn,  and  Tetens  (Erdmann's  Oeschichte  der  Philosophie,  §  301, 
2).  As  Kant  was  brought  up  in  this  school  and  adopted  the  classifica- 
tion, it  has  passed  through  his  writings  into  the  philosophical  literature 
of  all  Europe.  English  i-eaders  will  find  some  account  of  the  history  of 
the  classification  in  the  eleventh  of  Hamilton's  Lectures  on  Metaphysics, 
and  in  the  English  translation  of  Lotze's  Mikrokosmus,  Book  II.,  Chap. 
II.  See  also  Wundt's  Physiologische  Psychologie,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  11-18 
(2d  ed.). 


SPECIAL    PSYCHOLOGY  133 

the  associability  of  a  sensation  must  be  interpreted  by 
reference  both  to  its  suggestiveness  and  its  suggesti- 
bility. Comparison,  also,  involves  both  identification 
and  discrimination,  so  that  the  comparability  of  sen- 
sations is  to  be  estimated  by  their  power  of  being  at 
once  identified  and  distinguished.  It  may  be  added 
that  comparability  holds  in  representation  as  well  as 
in  presentation.  The  distinct  representability  of  a 
sensation,  therefore,  expresses  the  clearness  with  which 
it  may  be  distinguished  and  identified  when  it  is 
merely  represented  in  memory  or  imagination.  Con- 
sequently distinct  representability  is  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  ready  suggestibility;  for  a  sensation 
may  be  readily  recalled  as  an  indefinite  fact  of  mental 
life,  even  when  its  nature  cannot  be  vividly  repre- 
sented in  consciousness.^ 

The  power  of  distinct  representation  exhibits  re- 
markable variations,  not  only  in  degree,  but  also  in 
kind,  and  not  only  in  different  persons,  but  even  in 
the  same  person  at  different  times.  The  intensity  or 
vividness  with  which  a  person  can  reinstate  former 
impressions  varies  greatly  with  health,  with  fatigue, 
with  the  attention  given  to  them,  and  sometimes  with 
causes  that  cannot  easily  be  ascertained.  Por  there  is 
a  continuous  gradation  from  the  faint  shadowy  images 
that  are  frequently  hovering  on  the  very  verge  of  con- 
sciousness to  the  realistic  hallucinations  of  delirium. 
Among  different  persons  the  most  marked  variations 
of    this    powder    are    differences    in    kind,    one    finding 

'  The  distinction  here  indicated  is  expressed  hy  Sir  William  Hamilton 
In  the  discrimination  of  the  Representative  from  the  Reproductive 
Faculty.  See  his  Lectures  on  Metaphysics  (XXXI. -XXXIII.),  where 
interesting  Illustrations  of  the  distinction  will  be  found. 


134  PSYCHOLOGY 

suj3erior  vividness  in  visual  imagination,  another  in 
auditory,  a  third  in  tactile  or  motor,  and  so  on.  These 
differences  were  brought  under  the  notice  of  psycholo- 
gists distinctly  for  the  first  time  by  the  peculiarly  in- 
teresting investigations  of  Mr.  Galton  in  his  Inquiries 
into  Human  Faculty.'^ 

It  will  be  seen,  then,  that  we  are  thus  furnished  with 
a  criterion  to  determine  the  order  in  which  the  senses 
take  rank  as  contributing  more  or  less  important  ma- 
terials for  the  upbuilding  of  mind  in  all  its  three 
functions.  Their  relative  value  for  this  purpose  depends 
on  the  associability  and  comparability  of  their  sensa- 
tions. The  examination  of  the  different  senses  in  detail 
with  the  view  of  determining  their  relative  value  in  this 
respect  is  part  of  the  problem  which  forms  the  subject 
of  the  present  Book;  but  one  or  two  general  remarks 
on  the  subject  may  be  made  at  present. 

1.  The  two  properties  of  associability  and  compara- 
bility evidently  coincide  in  general,  those  sensations 
which  can  be  most  clearly  discriminated  and  identified 
being  the  most  powerfully  suggestive  and  the  most 
readily  suggestible.  Accordingly  the  mental  value  of 
sensations  may  sometimes  with  sufficient  accuracy  be 
estimated  by  distinct  representahility.  For  as  repre- 
sentation is  impossible  without  suggestion,  and  as  the 
distinct  representation  of  anything  implies  that  it  can 
be  clearly  discriminated  and  identified,  the  distinct 
representahility  of  a  sensation  may  be  taken  as  a  con- 
venient, though  not  a  complete,  expression  of  its  associa- 
bility and  comparability.    These  two  qualities,  moreover, 

*  Pp.    83-114.     The   student   is  recommended  to  read  also   James's 
Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  50-68. 


SPECIAL    PSYCHOLOGY  135 

enable  us  to  interpret  the  language  which  ascribes  a 
superior  refinement,  intellectual  or  moral,  to  some  sen- 
sations over  others.  For  the  association  and  comparison 
of  a  sensation  with  others  imply  that  the  consciousness 
is  raised  above  the  gross  act  of  sense,  and  occupied 
with  an  act  of  thought,  —  a  relation.  This  power  of 
rising  above  the  mere  animal  sensibility  is  what  con- 
stitutes refinement. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  to  the  import  of  this 
fact  in  the  training  of  the  mind.  Evidently  from  the 
very  beginning  educational  skill  should  be  directed  to 
stimulate  the  child-mind  to  go  beyond  the  sensuous  into 
the  spiritual  by  not  dwelling  on  sensation  as  mere  sen- 
sation, but  making  it  suggestive  of  ideas  with  which  it 
may  be  associated.  Though  Wordsworth  sometimes 
outdoes  Rousseau  in  requiring  that  educational  labour 
should  leave  the  mind  open  to  the  passive  reception 
of  influences  from  nature,  yet  we  can  discount  the  poetic 
hyperbole  of  his  assertion  that 

*'  One  impulse  from  the  vernal  wood 
May  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good, 
Than  all  the  sages  can."  ^ 

For  it  is,  after  all,  but  an  enthusiastic  description  of 
the  wholesome  tendency  that  he  has  elsewhere  charac- 
terised in  more  sober  terms  as  the  "  glorious  habit,'' 

"  By  which  the  sense  is  made  • 

Subservient  still  to  moral  purposes, 
Auxiliar  to  divine." 

*  The  Tahles  Turned.  The  same  sentiment.  In  a  similar  extrava- 
gance of  tone,  runs  through  the  poems.  To  my  Sister  and  Expostulation 
and  Reply.  The  whole  three  poems  were  written  about  the  same  time, 
in  1798. 


136  PSYCHOLOGY 

This  function  of  sensibility  in  mental  culture  has  im- 
pressed itself  on  popular  thought  in  the  common  appli- 
cations of  the  word  sense  and  its  equivalents  in  other 
languages.  While  referring  primarily  to  the  capacity  of 
bodily  feeling,  sense  is  used  also  to  denote  the  meaning 
of  a  word, — that  is,  the  thought  which  the  word  suggests 
to  the  mind.  The  same  fact  is  further  indicated  by 
the  use  of  the  word  sensible  as  an  equivalent  for  intelli- 
gent, as  well  as  in  phrases  like  good  sense,  common  sense, 
man  of  sense,  etc' 

2.  The  associability  and  comparability  of  a  sensation 
depend  on  the  nature  of  the  other  sensations  with  which 
it  is  associated  and  compared,  (a)  Take  associability 
first.  A  sensation  with  low  powers  of  association  will 
associate  more  readily  with  other  sensations  which  are  of 
strong  associability.  Thus  a  taste,  which  is  of  compara- 
tively slight  mental  value,  is  neither  very  suggestive  of 
other  tastes  nor  very  readily  suggested  by  them,  but  it 
becomes  at  once  more  suggestive  and  suggestible  if  it  is 
associated  with  a  higher  sensation,  such  as  a  colour. 
{!))  The  same  fact  may  be  noticed  in  the  relative 
comparability  of  different  sensations.  The  sensations 
which  do  not  admit  of  distinct  comparison  with  one 
another  are  easily  compared  with  any  class  of  sensations 
that  are  in  themselves  more  comparable. 

These  remarks  will  receive  illustration  as  we  proceed 
in  our  analysis  of  the  three  forms  of  mental  activity. 
For  convenience  in  exposition  we  shall  divide  this  Book 
into  three  Parts. 

*  Hegel  (Aesthetik,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  166-167)  has  some  good  remarks  on 
similar  applications  of  the  German  Sinn  and  its  compounds. 


PART    I. 

COGNITIONS. 

V 

THOUGH  the  more  technical  term  Cognition  has 
come  into  general  use  for  the  class  of  phenomena 
investigated  in  this  Part,  yet  we  shall  frequently  recur  to 
the  familiar  word  hnowledge,  using,  where  necessary, 
the  plural  knowledges,  which,  though  generally  aban- 
doned in  modern  English,  was  common  among  older 
writers.  As  cognate  w^ith  the  substantive  cognition  it 
may  often  be  convenient  to  use  the  verb  cognise  and 
the  adjective  cognitive. 

In  classifying  the  phenomena  of  cognition  the  most 
natural  principle  of  guidance  would  be  to  follow  the 
natural  evolution  of  human  intelligence.  The  course 
of  such  an  evolution  is  not  so  easily  traced  as  in  the 
case  of  many  among  the  simpler  and  more  palpable 
phenomena  of  external  nature;  for,  as  the  subsequent 
analysis  will  show,  the  principal  forms  of  intelligence 
are  to  a  certain  extent  developed  simultaneously.  At 
the  same  time  it  is  not  impossible  to  discover  the 
order  in  which  the  most  distinctly  marked  varieties  of 
cognition  tend  to  reach  a  certain  degree  of  maturity. 
Naturally  the  developing  intelligence  apprehends  first 
of  all  the  individual  sensible  object ;  for,  as  will  appear 
more  fully  by  and  by,  the  individual  is  a  concretion 
of  nature,  and  not  merely  a  construction  of  thought. 
The    cognition    of    the    individual    is    now    commonly 


138  PSYCHOLOGY 

known  by  the  name  of  Perception.  The  next  stage  is 
the  conception  of  a  class,  —  the  intellectual  activity 
described  by  such  terms  as  Generalisation.  Running 
alongside  of  these  cognitions,  but  later  in  its  distinct 
evolution,  is  the  process  of  Reasoning,  by  which  thought 
ascends  from  the  individual  to  the  class,  or  descends 
from  the  class  to  the  individual,  with  a  consciousness  of 
the  reason  for  its  ascent  or  descent.  Lastly,  there  is  an 
activity  of  intelligence  which  apprehends  the  universal 
in  the  particular,  —  the  general  attributes  of  the  class  in 
individual  form ;  and  this  may,  with  sufficient  accuracy 
at  present,  be  described  as  Idealisation.  Besides  these 
normal  functions  of  intelligence,  it  w^ill  be  advisable  to 
examine  some  of  those  familiar  illusions  w^hich  simulate 
the  appearance  of  cognition.  Each  of  these  subjects 
demands  a  separate  chapter  for  satisfactory  discussion ; 
and  we  shall  then  proceed,  in  a  concluding  chapter,  to 
summarise  the  results,  to  which  the  discussion  of  these 
subjects  points,  in  regard  to  the  general  nature  of 
knowledge. 

It  is  well,  however,  to  bear  in  mind  that  these  differ- 
ent functions  of  intelligence,  though  naturally  tending 
to  be  developed  in  the  order  indicated,  are  not  separated 
from  one  another  by  any  hard  and  fast  line  of  demarca- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  as  they  are  evolved  from  one 
another,  so  they  are  involved  in  one  another.  It  is  the 
one  intelligence  that  is  being  evolved  through  them  all. 
Thus  Perception  involves  from  the  first  a  general  ele- 
ment, which  is  evolved  in  Generalisation.  There  is  also 
a  certain  amount  of  Reasoning  involved,  not  only  in 
Generalisation,  but  in  Perception.  All  this  will  be 
made  clear  in  the  course  of  the  following  exposition. 


CHAPTEE   I. 


PERCEPTION. 


THE  word  Perception,  like  its  Latin  original,  was 
in  earlier  philosophical  writings,  and  is  still  in 
common  speech,  employed  in  a  somewhat  looser  sense 
for  any  kind  of  knowledge,  at  least  if  it  is  apparently 
immediate,  —  that  is,  if  it  does  not  seem  to  imply  any 
very  lengthy  process  for  its  attainment.  In  more  recent 
times,  however,  it  has  come  to  be  limited  in  English 
philosophical  literature  to  the  knowledge  of  an  indi- 
vidual sensible  object,  this  limitation  having  probably 
been  brought  about  mainly  by  the  influence  of  the 
Scottish  School.^  In  accordance  with  this  usage  the 
sensible  object  perceived  is  technically  called  a  percept. 
The  perception  of  an  object,  especially  through  the 
sense  of  sight,  seems,  to  the  ordinary  consciousness,  the 
most  simple  of  cognitions,  —  the  direct  presentation  of 
an  object  to  the  mind  through  the  channels  of  sense. 
This  cognition  has  therefore  long  withstood  the  efforts 
of  psychological  analysis;  and  an  appeal  against  such 
efforts  has  been  repeatedly  made,  even  in  recent  phi- 
losophy, to  the  common  sense,  to  the  universal  and 
irresistible  convictions  of  men.^     It  will  appear,  how- 

1  An  Interesting  note  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  on  the  history  of 
this  word  will  be  found  In  his  edition  of  Reid's  Worka.  p.  876. 

*  See  the  Dissertation  on  the  Philosophy  of  Common  Sense,  by  Sir 
W.  Hamilton,  appended  to  his  edition  of  Reid's  Works. 


140  PSYCHOLOGY 

ever,  on  examination,  that  even  the  simplest  act  of 
perception  implies  both  association  and  comparison,  and 
therefore  a  combination  of  elements  which  are  associated 
and  compared. 

To  make  this  evident,  let  us  take  a  very  simple  per- 
ception by  way  of  a  general  illustration.  The  percep- 
tion of  the  taste  of  an  apple  furnishes  a  good  example. 
To  an  unscientific  mind  the  perception  will  appear 
simply  as  the  immediate  cognition  of  an  object  revealed 
through  the  sense  of  taste.  But  the  moment  scientific 
analysis  sets  to  work  on  the  perception,  it  discloses  a 
much  more  complicated  composition.  For  it  becomes 
at  once  evident  that  the  sense  of  taste  by  itself  is  alto- 
gether incompetent  to  give  even  such  a  simple  cognition, 
or  indeed  any  other  cognition  whatever.  Isolate  the 
sense  of  taste  from  other  sources  of  information,  in 
order  to  find  what  it  contributes  to  our  knowledge,  and 
what  is  the  result  ?  What  are  we  conscious  of  in 
tasting  ?  Merely  of  the  sensation  —  the  mental  phe- 
nomenon —  that  we  call  a  taste.  But  to  understand  the 
full  purport  of  this,  observe  what  it  implies ;  and  what 
we  are  conscious  of  may  perhaps  be  most  fully  brought 
to  view  by  pointing  out  what  we  are  not  conscious  of 
in  tasting. 

1.  We  are  not  conscious,  by  taste  alone,  of  any  sapid 
property  in  a  body,  —  of  any  property  by  reason  of 
which  it  is  capable  of  exciting  a  sensation  of  taste.  It 
is  necessary  to  bear  this  constantly  in  mind  on  account 
of  the  ambiguity  in  the  word  taste.  Like  the  names 
of  other  sensations,  such  as  smell,  colour,  sound,  and 
heat,  taste  is  used  both  for  a  sensation  and  for  the 
external  cause  by  which  the  sensation  is  produced.    Now 


PERCEPTION  141 

we  are  immediately  conscious  of  the  sensation  which 
we  call  a  taste;  but  what  that  is  in  a  body  which 
excites  the  sensation  could  never  be  discovered  by  any 
use  of  the  sense  of  taste  alone,  —  can  be  discovered 
only  by  those  researches  of  the  chemist  which  call  into 
play  various  other  senses  and  faculties  of  intelligence. 

2.  We  are  not  conscious,  by  taste  alone,  of  any  body 
at  all.  A  body  is  a  thing  that  occupies  space,  and  resists 
our  efforts  to  displace  it  from  the  space  occupied;  but 
it  need  scarcely  be  said  that  neither  space  nor  resistance 
can  be  tasted. 

3.  It  follows  from  this  that  taste  of  itself  gives  us 
information,  not  even  of  our  own  body,  nor  —  it  is 
almost  needless  to  add  —  of  any  organ  in  our  body 
through  which  we  afterwards  learn  that  the  sensations 
of  taste  are  received. 

If,  then,  in  the  mere  act  of  tasting  our  consciousness 
is  limited  to  the  sensation  excited,  it  may  be  asked,  how 
do  we  come  to  knoiu,  —  to  perceive  anything  by  the 
sense  of  taste  at  all  ?  To  answer  this  question,  we 
must  understand  all  that  a  sensation  involves.  IS'ow  it 
is  true  that  in  its  abstract  indeterminateness  a  sensation 
may  be  described  as  a  purely  subjective  condition  of 
mind.  But  as  a  concrete  fact  of  mental  life  it  is  a  fact 
of  which  we  must  be  conscious ;  and  to  say  that  we  are 
conscious  of  it  is  merely  another  way  of  saying  that  it 
is  an  object  known.  The  consciousness  of  a  sensation 
may  indeed  take  a  variety  of  forms.  The  sensation 
may  be  such  that  its  pleasurable  or  painful  character 
becomes  predominant,  and  then  the  consciousness  ap- 
pears as  mere  feeling.  But  the  pleasure  or  pain  felt 
may  act  as  a  stimulus  to  the  will,  and  then  a  conscious 


142  PSYCHOLOGY 

volition  is  the  result.  If,  however,  the  pleasure  or  pain 
excited  by  a  sensation  is  subordinate  to  the  information 
communicated,  the  consciousness  has  risen  to  a  cognitive 
act.  It  will  therefore  appear  by  and  by  that  sensations 
of  absorbing  intensity,  however  important  in  view  of  the 
contributions  they  make  to  the  pleasures  and  pains  of 
human  life,  are  comparatively  valueless  for  the  pur- 
poses of  human  knowledge;  while  nearly  all  our  infor- 
mation about  the  world  in  which  we  live  is  based  on 
sensations  which,  if  not  absolutely  neutral  in  quality, 
are  at  least  so  faintly  pleasurable  or  painful  that  the 
consciousness,  instead  of  being  absorbed  in  our  subjec- 
tive condition,  may  contemplate  that  condition  with  the 
same  cakn  disinterestedness  as  if  it  were  an  objective 
fact. 

The  truth  is  that,  in  being  conscious  of  a  sensation, 
it  becomes  to  us,  not  merely  a  subjective  state,  but  an 
object  of  knowledge.  This  objectification  of  sensations 
implies,  of  course,  that  we  distinguish  an  object  known 
from  ourselves  who  know  it.  How  those  antithetical 
ideas  of  self  and  notself  are  originally  formed,  is  a 
problem  that  must  be  reserved  for  subsequent  discus- 
sion. At  the  present  stage  it  need  only  be  observed  that 
in  some  way  or  other  this  distinction  is  rendered  pos- 
sible. Now  it  is  this  distinction  that  constitutes  the 
first  step  in  the  evolution  of  knowledge;  for  I  cannot 
be  said  to  know  until  I  am  conscious  of  something  that 
is  not  I,  that  is  known  by  me.  But  whenever  anything 
becomes  to  me  an  object,  it  may  be  brought  into  those 
combinations  and  comparisons  which  constitute  all  our 
cognitions  in  their  various  degrees  of  complexity.  To 
these  combinations  and  comparisons  we  now  proceed; 


PERCEPTION  143 

but  it  should  be  observed  that  even  at  this  stage  an 
act  of  comparison  has  been  performed;  for  the  dis- 
crimination of  self  and  notself  is  a  consciousness  of 
difference. 

Proceeding  in  the  analysis  of  the  simple  perception 
with  which  we  set  out,  —  the  perception  of  the  taste  of 
an  apple,  —  we  immediately  detect  further  acts  of  com- 
parison involved.  To  know  this  sensation  as  the  taste 
of  an  apple,  implies  both  a  cognition  of  difference  and 
a  cognition  of  identity,  —  in  fact,  a  twofold  cognition 
of  each.  For,  in  the  first  place,  I  cannot  know  the 
sensation  to  be  a  taste  without  distinguishing  it  from 
other  sensations  which  are  not  tastes ;  nor,  still  further, 
can  I  know  it  to  be  the  taste  of -an  apple  without  dis- 
tinguishing it  from  tastes  which  are  produced  by  other 
substances.  We  may  leave  out  of  consideration  the 
case  in  which  my  perception  may  be  more  specially 
discriminative  by  my  knowledge  of  the  difference  be- 
tween the  tastes  of  varieties  of  apples.  But,  in  the 
second  place,  I  cannot  know  this  sensation  to  be  a 
taste  except  by  identifying  it  with  similar  sensations 
experienced  before,  and  kno^vn  to  be  tastes;  while  the 
more  definite  perception  of  the  taste  as  being  the  taste 
of  an  apple  implies  that  I  have  identified  it  with  pre- 
vious tastes  which  I  knew  to  be  produced  by  that  fruit. 

But  what  is  implied  in  these  acts  of  comparison  ?  It 
is  evidently  impossible  to  compare  a  present  sensation 
with  sensations  of  the  past,  by  way  either  of  discrimi- 
nating or  of  identifying,  unless  these  sensations  are 
reproduced  in  my  present  consciousness  by  suggestion. 
This,  however,  is  not  the  only  activity  of  suggestion  in 
the  formation  of  the  perception.     For  when  I  perceive 


144  PSYCHOLOGY 

a  taste  to  be  the  taste  of  an  apple,  I  associate  the  taste 
with  those  general  appearances  which  an  apple  presents. 
But  these  appearances  are  somewhat  complex.  Thej 
contain  ideas  of  a  spherical  shape  as  well  as  of  com- 
parative smoothness  and  hardness,  received  from  touch 
and  the  muscular  sense;  they  involve  also  visual  ideas, 
—  ideas  of  colour,  red,  green,  or  russet,  according  to 
the  variety  of  apple  that  most  readily  recurs  to  the 
mind.  This  complex  association  of  muscular,  tactile, 
and  visual  ideas  is  therefore  also  suggested  in  the  per- 
ception of  the  taste  of  an  apple.  The  perception  in- 
volves some  additional  elements  of  a  more  difficult 
nature,  but  these  need  not  be  discussed  here. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  hit  upon  a  perception  more 
simple  in  appearance  than  that  which  has  been  selected 
for  illustration;  yet  even  this  perception  is  seen  to  in- 
volve considerable  complexity.  It  is  true  that  this  com- 
plexity is  brought  to  light  only  by  such  an  analysis  as 
that  which  we  have  gone  through ;  and  consequently  the 
young  observer  finds  it  difficult,  in  spite  of  the  analysis, 
to  admit  such  complexity  in  an  act  which  seems  so 
simple.  To  remove  this  difficulty  he  must  remember 
that  such  perceptions  were  not  always  so  simple  as 
they  are  now.  The  perceptions  which  appear  abso- 
lutely simple  to  the  intelligence  of  maturity  are  evi- 
dently in  childhood  the  result  of  tentative,  hesitating 
intellectual  efforts,  such  as  we  are  conscious  of  in  later 
years  when  we  seek  to  become  acquainted  with  a  novel 
set  of  phenomena,  —  to  master  a  new  language  or  a 
new  science.  Moreover,  the  secondary  laws  of  sugges- 
tion show  that  mental  acts  come  to  reproduce  themselves 
more  readily  by  repetition,  especially  in  uniform  asso- 


PERCEPTION  145 

ciations,  till  they  may  become  absolutely  instantaneous ; 
and  it  is  in  virtue  of  this  that  the  tentative  hesitancy 
of  infantile  observations  disappears  with  the  growth  of 
disciplined  intelligence. 

After  this  exposition  of  the  general  process  by  which 
perceptions  are  formed,  we  j)roceed  to  the  examination 
of  the  special  perceptions  which  we  owe  to  the  several 
senses.  Here,  again,  the  exposition  should  most  appro- 
priately follow  the  natural  evolution  of  intelligence  if 
that  evolution  could  be  traced  with  certainty.  On  such 
a  principle  we  should  begin  with  the  vaguest  forms  of 
general  sensibility,  and  follow  our  perceptions  as  they 
were  gradually  developed  in  connection  with  the  most 
distinctly  differentiated  forms  of  special  sensibility. 
But  conscious  perceptions  presuppose  special  senses  al- 
ready developed,  and  consequently  there  is  a  conven- 
ience in  beginning  the  exposition  with  these.  There  is 
a  further  convenience  in  taking  first  those  senses  which 
are  of  low  intellectual  power,  inasmuch  as  their  per- 
ceptions are  necessarily  of  a  much  less  complicated 
character  than  those  which  are  based  on  sensations  that 
readily  admit  of  numerous  associations  and  compari- 
sons, and  on  that  account  they  are  naturally  those  which 
make  their  appearance  earliest  in  mental  life.  We  shall 
therefore  adopt  again  the  order  previously  followed  in 
describing  the  senses. 

§  1.  —  Perceptions  of  Taste. 

In  man  generally  as  contrasted  with  the  brute,  and  in 
civilised  man  especially,  as  contrasted  with  the  savage, 
even  the  sense  of  taate,  though  lowest  of  all  the  special 

10 


146  PSYCHOLOGY 

senses  in  intellectual  rank,  scarcely  ever  remains  at  the 
stage  of  mere  sensation.  The  lower  animal,  in  feeding, 
seems  absorbed  in  the  mere  organic  pleasure  which  he 
is  receiving;  and  from  the  accounts  of  travellers  and 
missionaries  who  have  become  familiar  with  savage  life, 
it  appears  as  if  the  meal  of  the  lowest  savages  ap- 
proached in  a  disgusting  degree  the  character  of  purely 
animal  gratification.^  But  the  tendency  of  civilisation 
is  to  lift  man  out  of  mere  sensuousness  in  the  enjoy- 
ments of  taste.  In  civilised  communities,  therefore, 
even  the  gourmand  derives  his  gratification  largely  from 
appreciating,  often  with  a  high  degree  of  nicety,  the 
delicate  peculiarities  of  the  viands  and  beverages  in 
W'hich  he  indulges;  while  the  gastronomy  of  a  luxuri- 
ous life  is  based  on  a  certain  amount  of  scientific  art 
in  the  culinary  preparation  of  food,  as  well  as  in  the 
order  in  which  dishes  and  wines  are  served  so  as  to 
give  the  largest  play  to  the  discriminative  sensibility 
of  taste. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  add  here,  that  the  same 
tendency  of  civilisation  in  regard  to  the  pleasures  of 
the  table  is  exhibited  in  a  variety  of  other  ways.  It 
appears  in  many,  if  not  all,  of  the  customs  which  regu- 
late meal^  ever  more  prominently  with  the  progress  of 
wealth  and  culture.  The  formal  ceremony  which  im- 
parts a  certain  degree  of  human  dignity  to  the  pro- 
ceedings; the  music,  and  the  decorations  of  room  and 
table,  by  which  the  higher  senses  are  gratified;  the 
more  purely  intellectual  enjoyment  of  conversation,  — 
the  "  Attic  salt ''  with  which  the  meal  of  educated  men 

*  This  is  illustrated,  usque  ad  nauseam,  in  Letourneau's  Sociology, 
Book  I.,  Chap.  III. 


PERCEPTIOK  147 

is  spiced,  —  all  these  indicate  the  tendency  of  civilised 
man  to  raise  the  act  of  eating  above  the  character  of  a 
merely  animal  act.  In  fact,  from  the  artistic  setting 
in  which  even  the  grossest  meats  may  be  served,  it  would 
almost  seem  as  if  mere  gustatory  sensation  were  to  be- 
come a  vanishing  fraction  of  the  enjoyments  of  the 
table. 

All  men  learn  to  discriminate  the  more  marked  dif- 
ferences of  taste,  especially  in  articles  of  food,  and  can 
thereby  often  detect  the  presence  of  substances  which 
are  not  readily  perceptible  by  other  senses.  But  if  the 
attention  is  specially  directed  to  the  minuter  differences 
of  taste,  a  delicacy  of  perception  may  be  reached  which 
is  sometimes  of  service,  not  only  to  the  gourmand  in  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure,  but  in  the  serious  business  of  life 
to  the  chemist,  the  wine  merchant,  the  oil  merchant,  and 
others.^  It  has  been  observed  that  when  a  more  distinct 
perception  is  desired,  the  sensibility  of  the  tongue  is 
increased  by  passing  sapid  bodies  over  its  surface,  — 
one  of  the  numerous  instances  in  which  muscular  activity 
comes  to  the  aid  of  passive  sensibility. 

The  intellectual  element  involved  in  the  perceptions 
of  taste  explains  the  common  figure  of  speech  by  which 
the  words  expressing  these  perceptions  in  various  lan- 
guages are  transferred  to  cognitions  which  have  no 
connection  with  sense.  Thus  the  word  taste  in  our 
own  language,  and  its  equivalent  in  others,  is  used  for 
the  faculty  by  which  we  appreciate  the  beautiful  and 
the  sublime.    The  Greek  term  for  wisdom^  aoc^la,  as  we 


*  It  appears  that,  with  experienced  chemists,  taste  surpasses  all 
methods  of  chemical  analysis  in  its  power  of  detecting  the  presence  of 
sapid  substances. 


148  PSYCHOLOGY 

see  from  its  Latin  kindred  sapicntia,  literally  means 
taste;  while,  in  several  passages  in  which  the  English 
version  represents  exactly  the  original,  the  Scriptures 
describe  by  this  expression  the  purest  acts  of  man's 
spirit.^ 

But,  after  all,  the  intellectual  capabilities  of  taste  are 
slight,  when  contrasted  with  those  of  the  other  special 
senses;  that  is  to  say,  its  sensations  are  not  readily 
associable  or  comparable. 

I.  The  associahility  of  tastes  with  tastes  is,  indeed, 
implied  in  every  identification  —  recognition  —  of  a 
taste;  but  this  is  association  of  that  simple  sort  w^hich 
is  involved  in  the  very  possibility  of  knowledge.  It  is 
merely  the  revival  of  a  previous  sensation  through  sug- 
gestion by  a  present  sensation  which  is  identical  with 
it  in  nature;  in  other  words,  it  is  suggestion  by  the 
Law  of  Similarity.  But  the  association  of  tastes  by 
the  Law  of  Contiguity  is  probably  very  slight.  We 
seldom,  if  ever,  have  an  instance  of  one  taste  suggesting 
another  merely  on  the  ground  of  their  having  been  in 
consciousness  at  the  same  time.  The  association  of  a 
taste,  however,  with  ideas  of  a  more  intellectual  sense 
like  sight  is  more  marked.  Thus  a  taste  will  readily 
recall  the  visual  appearance  of  a  sapid  body;  but  this 
illustrates  the  associahility,  not  of  tastes,  but  of  sights; 
it  shows  not  so  much  that  tastes  are  suggestive  as  that 
sights  are  suggestible.  This,  too,  is  the  only  form  in 
which  ideas  of  space  associate  with  tastes.  Abstract 
space  —  position  or  distance  —  is  incapable  of  being 
perceived  through  the  medium  of  this  sense.     It  thus 

1  "  Taste  and  see  that  the  Ijord  is  good  "  (Psalm  xxxiv.  8)  ;  "  Tasted 
of  the  heavenly  gift,  .  .  .  tasted  the  good  word  of  God  "  (Heb.  vi.  4-5). 


PERCEPTION^  149 

appears  that  tastes  are  but  weakly  suggestive ;  we  shall 
see  immediately  that  their  suggestibility  is  also  meagre, 
when  we  come  to  consider  the  difficulty  of  reviving  them 
distinctly  in  memory  or  imagination. 

II.  Tastes  do  not  admit  of  comparison  with  ease.  It 
is  true  that  the  analysis  of  a  simple  perception  in  the 
introductory  part  of  this  chapter  has  proved  that  every 
recognition  of  a  taste  implies  its  power  of  being  iden- 
tified and  discriminated.  But  this  power,  whether  in 
the  presentation  or  in  the  representation  of  tastes,  is 
extremely  limited. 

1.  In  presentation  simultaneous  tastes  can  scarcely 
be  distinguished  at  all;  and  even  a  succession  of  tastes, 
though  not  very  rapid,  soon  confounds  the  sense.  It  is 
by  this  means,  in  fact,  that  we  all  learn  from  childhood 
to  neutralise  a  nauseous  taste  by  saturating  the  mouth 
with  a  sweet  substance  beforehand,  and  thus  destroying 
for  a  time  its  sensibility  to  any  other.  In  this  respect  a 
very  marked  contrast  is  furnished  by  the  sensations  of 
touch,  hearing,  and  sight,  which  become  indistinguish- 
able only  in  very  rapid  succession. 

2.  But  neither  can  tastes  be  represented  with  distinct- 
ness. In  the  representation  of  beautiful  sights  or  tones 
or  of  tender  touches,  a  delight  is  often  felt  similar  to 
that  furnished  by  the  original  sensations;  but  no  such 
pleasure  is  ever  experienced  in  the  representation  of 

tastes. 

*'  O  who 

Cau  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast?  " 

The  result  is,  that  the  common  furniture  of  ideas  with 
which  the  human  mind  is  stocked  is  derived  only  to  a 


150  PSYCHOLOGY 

very  slight  extent  from  the  sense  of  taste.  In  illustra- 
tion of  this  it  has  been  asserted  by  Longet,  that  in 
dreaming  of  a  feast  we  never  dream  of  tasting,  but 
merely  of  seeing  the  viands.  Inquiry  proves  that  this 
assertion  is  too  sweeping.  It  may  be  true,  indeed,  with 
the  limitation  to  dreaming  of  a  feast;  for  in  such  a 
dream  the  visual  picture  of  the  table  is  undoubtedly  in 
general  predominant.  But  it  is  certain  that  tastes  do 
figure  in  our  dreams  at  times.  The  real  fact  seems  to 
be,  however,  that  in  such  cases  the  dream-taste  is  a 
veritable  sensation  of  the  moment,  and  not  a  mere  rep- 
resentation called  up  from  past  experience.  For,  as 
we  shall  see  more  fully  by  and  by,  a  sensation  may  be 
excited  by  the  internal  condition  of  the  sentient  organ 
as  well  as  by  an  external  stimulant;  and  it  is  then 
called  a  subjective  sensation,  to  distinguish  it  from 
sensations  that  are  excited  by  objective  causes.  Now 
the  organ  of  taste  is  peculiarly  liable  to  subjective  sen- 
sations, as  its  condition  is  easily  affected  by  the  gen- 
eral health,  and  more  particularly  by  the  state  of 
digestion.  There  is  good  ground  for  believing  that 
dream-tastes  are  all  of  this  kind.  There  is  certainly 
no  evidence  to  show  that  such  a  taste  is  ever  a  mere 
imagination  or  memory.  The  facts  therefore  only  go 
to  prove  more  clearly  that  tastes  are  a  class  of  sensa- 
tions which  cannot  be  readily  suggested  or  distinctly 
represented  to  the  mind.  It  thus  appears  that  they 
occupy  an  insignificant  place  among  the  pictures  that 
make  up  the  consciousness  of  dreams  or  of  waking  life ; 
and  consequently  imagination  is  seldom  sent  wander- 
ing among  the  mental  stores  of  a  revivable  past  by  any 
impulse  which  it  receives  from  memories  of  taste. 


PERCEPTION  151 

It  is  not  therefore  difficult  to  explain  why  the  per- 
ceptions of  taste  provide  but  a  slender  portion  of  the 
imagery  which  forms  the  materials  of  poetic  art.  The 
descriptions  of  banquets  in  which  poetry  indulges  at 
times  give  an  almost  exclusive  prominence  to  those  as- 
pects of  the  occasion  which  have  been  already  noticed 
as  prevailing  ever  more  and  more  at  the  meals  of  civ- 
ilised men.  It  is  the  glory  of  the  festal  pomp,  the 
visual  gratification  in  artistic  groupings  of  colour  and 
form,  the  rank  or  beauty  of  the  guests,  the  light  play 
of  intellect,  and  the  gush  of  social  feeling,  — 
"  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul ;  " 

such  are  the  factors  of  the  banquet  which  the  poet 
selects  as  alone  suitable  for  his  purpose.  If  the  meats 
and  drinks  are  introduced  into  the  description,  except 
perhaps  in  the  poetry  of  a  coarser  age,  their  gustatory 
effect  is  ignored,  they  are  noticed  only  in  their  pic- 
turesque aspect  as  forming  parts  of  a  beautiful  scene. ^ 
Perhaps  an  approach  to  aesthetic  enjoyment  in  gustatory 
gratification  is  experienced  in  the  order  of  tastes  pre- 
scribed by  a  skilful  gastronomy,  — 

*'  What  order  so  contrived  as  not  to  mix 
Tastes  not  well-joined  inelegant,  but  bring 
Taste  after  taste  upheld  with  kindliest  change." 

*  In  lUustratio*  of  this  Mr.  Grant  Allen  has  cited  three  well-known 
descriptions  from  Milton,  Keats,  and  Tennyson  {Physiological  Pathetics, 
pp.  260-261).  Similar  passages  —  some  briefer,  some  more  elaborate  — 
might  be  adduced  both  from  ancient  and  from  modern  literature.  It  is 
remarkable  that  even  a  humorous  description,  with  so  much  mere  animal 
gusto  as  Burns's  verses  To  a  Ilafjgis,  should  not  once  mention  the  taste 
of  the  dish  It  celebrates,  but  collect  its  imagery  exclusively  from  the 
visual  appearance  of  the  dish,  and  Its  remoter  suggestions.  A  recent 
work,  TJie  Education  of  the  Central  Nervous  System  (1898)  by  R.  P. 
Halleck,  gives  an  elaborate  collation  of  the  Images  derived  from  taste 
In  Shakespeare  and  Milton  (pp.  117-119).  But  the  author  does  not 
seem  to  appreciate  the  aesthetic  poverty  of  the  sense. 


152  PSYCHOLOGY 

This  may  give  to  tastes  a  place  in  the  poetry  of  a 
ruder  people.  It  may  also  be  owing  to  this,  if  not 
rather  to  a  simple  confusion  of  pleasures,  that  children 
sometimes  use  expressions  of  aesthetic  feeling  in  ref- 
erence to  sweetmeats  and  savoury  dishes.  But,  strictly 
speaking,  the  aesthetic  consciousness  is  at  zero  in  the 
perceptions  of  taste. 

§  2.  —  Perceptions  of  Smell. 

It  has  been  already  mentioned  that  the  organ  of 
smell,  especially  its  intracranial  portion,  is  more  largely 
developed  in  many  of  the  lower  animals  than  in  man. 
As  a  result  of  this,  among  these  animals  the  sense  of 
smell  is  of  much  higher  value  as  a  means  of  obtaining 
information  about  the  external  world,  though  it  is  little, 
if  at  all,  used  as  a  source  of  feeling.  To  a  dog  on  the 
scent,  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  odours  seems 
insignificant;  he  examines  with  almost  equal  keenness 
a  loathsome  putrefaction  and  a  fragrant  perfume.  But 
he  learns  more  of  objects  generally  from  their  smell 
than  the  careless  observer  might  at  first  suppose.  You 
may  often  catch  a  dog  gazing  at  a  person  with  the 
vacant  look  of  ignorance  or  doubt,  even  when  he  is  near 
enough  to  see  distinctly;  but  his  recognition  is  decided 
at  once  by  a  whiff  of  odour.  In  fact,  a  psychology  of 
animals  with  a  keen  scent  would,  perhaps  with  truth, 
describe  their  world  as  one  in  which  odours  take  the 
prominent  place  that  sights  occupy  in  ours. 

A  somewhat  similar  fact  is  observable  in  the  function 
that  smell  performs  among  the  lower  races  of  men.^ 

^  Certain  differences  in  the  organ  of  smell  among  civilised  men  and 
savages   are   obvious.      Even    the   external    shape  —  the   extraordinary 


PERCEPTION  153 

The  savage  applies  his  scent  to  obtain  a  great  deal  of 
information  for  which  the  civilised  man  has  recourse 
to  the  higher  senses  of  hearing  and  sight.    Haller  states 
that  the  negroes  of  the  Antilles  can  distinguish  by  smell 
the  footstep  of  a  negro  from  that  of  a  Frenchman; 
and,  according  to  Humboldt,  the  same  sense  enables  the 
Peruvian  Indians  to  tell,  when  a  stranger  is  approach- 
ing, whether  he  is  an  Indian,  an  European,  or  a  negro. 
In  civilised  communities,  also,  it  is  a  remarkable  fact 
that  persons  of  a  low  mental  type  exhibit  the  same 
characteristic.      Idiots    are   often   observed   examining 
other  persons  by  their  odour ;  ^   and  it  is  a  curious  fact 
that  a  keen  scent  for  human  flesh  is  commonly  ascribed 
to  the  giants  of  folk-lore,  who  are  probably  the  survi- 
vals in  popular  tradition  of  those  types  of  uncultured 
brute  force,  belonging  to  an  earlier  civilisation,  with 
which  the  higher  races  must  have  come  into  conflict  m 
prehistoric  times.^     But  the  tendency  of  civilisation  is 
to  disuse  the  sense  of  smell  as  a  means  of  perception, 
and  to  resort  to  it  merely  for  its  delicate  gratifications. 
This   is   significantly   indicated  in  the   fact  that  lan- 
guage has  no  names  for  distinct  kinds  of  smell,  like 
the  terms  by  which  colours  and  sounds,  and  even  tastes, 
are  distinguished.     As  already  mentioned,  odours  are 

breadth  —  of  the  nose  in  some  of  the  lower  races  seems  to  point  to  a 
larger  expansion  of  the  nasal  membrane.  But  negroes  often  exhibit  an 
additional  peculiarity.  In  men  generally  the  interior  of  the  nostrils  ia 
convoluted  into  three  meatuses  by  the  three  turbinated  bones.  In  the 
negro  there  is  often  found  a  fourth  meatus  above  the  superior  turbi- 
nated bone,  Implying  a  considerable  increase  of  sensitive  surface.  I 
cannot  find,  however,  that  observations  have  discovered  any  corre- 
sponding enlargement  of  the  olfactory  bulb. 

*  Maudsley's  Physiology  of  Vie  Mind,  p.  215. 

«  One  of  Grimm's  stories,  Hansel  and  Greta,  ascribes  to  witches  the 
name  keenness  of  scent,  and  significantly  connects  It  with  defect  of 
eyesight. 


154  PSYCHOLOGY 

designated   simply  by  their  agreeable  or   disagreeable 
quality. 

But  even  in  civilised  life  smell  sometimes  acquires 
extraordinary  acuteness  when  there  is  any  cause  to 
stimulate  its  unusual  development.  The  requisite 
stimulus  may  be  derived  from  professional  require- 
ments, as  when  the  chemist  accustoms  himself  to  detect 
by  their  odour  the  presence  of  certain  substances  in 
compounds;  and  it  appears  that  smell,  like  taste,  may 
be  trained  to  excel  the  methods  of  chemical  analysis. 
The  most  astonishing  examples,  however,  of  acuteness 
in  the  perception  of  odours  are,  in  civilised  life,  to  be 
found  among  those  whose  loss  of  an  important  sense 
like  sight  has  obliged  them  to  seek  compensation  in  the 
increased  refinement  of  the  others.  Thus  the  blind 
deaf-mute,  James  Mitchell,  is  said  to  have  possessed, 
besides  a  remarkable  keenness  of  scent  in  general,  the 
peculiar  faculty  of  discovering  by  smell,  not  only  the 
presence  of  a  stranger  in  a  room,  but  even  the  position 
in  which  he  stood ;  ^  and  he  is  even  said  to  have  formed 
some  notion  of  character  by  this  sense.^  Another  blind 
and  deaf  mute,  Julia  Brace,  who  is  described  as  pos- 
sessing a  fine  physical  organisation,  furnishes  perhaps 
the  most  astonishing  instance  on  record  of  acute  scent. 
In  fact,  according  to  Dr.  Howe's  report,  "  smell  seems 
to  be  the  sense  on  which  she  most  relies.  She  smells  at 
everything  which  she  can  bring  within  range  of  the 
sense;     and  she  has  come  to  perceive  odours  utterly 

*  Dugald  Stewart's  Works,  Vol.  IV.,  pp.  314-316  (Hamilton's  ed.). 

'  Ibid.,  p.  335,  note.  Dr.  Kitto  adds  a  significant  fact,  which  I 
cannot  find  In  Stewart's  account,  that,  after  an  operation  which  im- 
proved Mitchell's  sight  very  slightly  for  a  time,  he  used  the  sense  of 
smell  much  less  than  before  {The  Lost  Senses,  p.  195). 


PEKCEPTION  155 

insensible  to  other  persons.  When  she  meets  a  person 
whom  she  has  met  before,  she  instantly  recognises  him 
by  the  smell  of  his  hand  or  of  his  glove.  If  it  be  a 
stranger,  she  smells  his  hand;  and  the  impression  is  so 
strong  that  she  can  recognise  him  long  after  by  smell- 
ing his  hand,  or  even  his  glove,  if  just  taken  off.  .  .  . 
She  was  employed  in  sorting  the  clothes  of  the  pupils 
after  they  came  out  of  the  wash,  and  could  distinguish 
those  of  each  friend.  If  half  a  dozen  strangers  should 
throw  each  one  his  glove  into  a  hat,  and  they  were 
shaken  up,  Julia  will  take  one  glove,  smell  it,  then 
smell  the  hand  of  each  person,  and  unerringly  assign 
each  glove  to  its  owner.''  ^ 

The  intellectual  element  involved  in  the  perceptions 
of  this  sense  explains  the  figurative  applications  of 
smell,  scent,  odour,  perfume,  aroma,  bouquet,  fragrant, 
redolent,  and  synonymous  words  in  other  languages. 
The  word  sagacious  involves  a  figure  derived  from 
smell;  and  that  is  a  suggestive  figure  also  which  says 
of  a  laboured  style  that  it  "  smells  of  the  lamp." 

The  intellectual  superiority  of  smell  to  taste  may  not 
be  at  once  obvious;  but  a  brief  review  of  what  is 
implied  in  the  facts  already  cited  will  make  the  supe- 
riority evident.  Without  referring  again  to  the  associa- 
tions and  comparisons  that  are  of  course  involved  in 
all  perceptions,  it  may  be  observed  that 

I.  Smells  are  more  easily  compared  than  tastes  both 
in  presentation  and  in  representation. 

1.  The  sense  of  smell  is  not  cloyed  so  soon  as  that  of 
taste.     This  may  be  partly  due  to  the  finer  form  of  the 

*  Dr.  Howe,  in  the  Forty-Third  Report  of  the  Massachusetts  Asylum 
for  the  Blind,  quoted  In  Maudsley's  Physiology  of  the  Mind,  p,  257. 


156  PSYCHOLOGY 

agency  by  which  the  organ  is  stimulated.  Wliile  taste 
can  be  excited  only  by  comparatively  gross  masses  of 
liquid  or  solid  food,  odorous  bodies  act  by  means  of 
practically  imponderable  particles.  The  result  is,  that 
the  organ  obtains  more  rapid  relief  from  its  stimulants ; 
and  they  can  therefore  be  distinguished  even  in  some- 
what close  succession. 

2.  Odours  are  also  capable  of  being  more  distinctly 
represented;  and  accordingly  they  enter  much  more  ex- 
tensively into  the  general  stock  of  ideas  with  which  the 
mind  is  furnished.     This  will  appear  in  illustrating 

II.  The  associahility  of  odours,  which  is  likewise 
higher  than  that  of  tastes.  For,  as  Dugald  Stewart  has 
justly  observed,  "  the  conspicuous  place  which  the  sen- 
sations of  smell  occupy  in  the  poetical  language  of  all 
nations  shows  how  easily  and  naturally  they  ally  them- 
selves with  the  refined  operations  of  the  Fancy,  and 
with  the  moral  emotions  of  the  heart."  ^  The  superior 
associahility  of  odours  implies  that  they  are  at  once 
more  suggestible  and  more  suggestive. 

1.  They  are  suggested,  not  only  with  greater  distinct- 
ness, but  with  quicker  readiness.  This  is  indicated  by 
the  frequency  with  w^hich  odours  enter  into  the  imagery 
of  all  literature,  for  that  implies  that  they  are  readily 
revived  by  any  association. 

"  O  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  sound 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odour."  ^ 

»  Works,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  330,  note  (Hamilton's  ed.). 

'^  Twelfth  Night,  Act  I.,  Scene  1.  Most  editors  have  substituted 
"south"  for  "sound."     Compare  the  passage  in  Milton's  Comus: 

"  At  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound 
Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distilled  perfumes 
And  stole  upon  the  air." 


PEKCEPTIOIT  157 

Such  similes  imply  a  kind  of  comparison  which  we 
should  scarcely  dream  of  looking  for  in  connection  with 
tastes. 

2.  But  the  superior  associahility  of  odours  is  perhaps 
more  strikingly  exhibited  in  their  suggestiveness.  It 
has  been  already  mentioned  that  James  Mitchell  used 
to  discern  by  smell  the  position  of  a  person  in  a  room. 
This  is  analogous  to  the  perception  exhibited  by  any 
person  of  ordinary  sensibility  who,  on  being  surprised 
by  an  odour,  hunts  out  the  source  from  which  it  comes. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  in  the  perception  of  ex- 
ternality smell  accomplishes  what  taste  cannot  do;  it 
takes  us  beyond  our  o^^^l  organism,  and  in  suggesting 
the  distance  or  direction  of  an  odorous  body  it  gives 
a  perception  of  abstract  space.  But  vaster  associations 
than  those  of  mere  locality  are  easily  formed  with  smell. 
In  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table  Dr.  Holmes 
has,  in  his  own  charming  way,  illustrated  how  persons, 
events,  scenes  of  a  distant  past  may  be  suddenly  re- 
called by  a  slight  half-forgotten  odour;  and  most  men 
who  have  reflected  on  the  subject  will  acknowledge  that 
the  illustration  accords  wdth  their  experience.  The 
emotional  associations  of  smell  will  be  noticed  more 
appropriately  in  the  next  Part  of  this  Book.  It  has 
been  well  said  therefore  by  Rousseau,  in  contrasting 
taste  and  smell,  that  ^'  taste  is  the  only  sense  which  has 
nothing  to  say  to  the  imagination.  .  .  .  Odours  excite 
the  imagination  more  than  the  sense,  and  affect  us,  not 
so  much  by  what  they  furnish  as  by  what  they  lead  us 
to  expect."  ^ 

*  Emile,  Livre  II.,  near  the  end.  In  The  Education  of  tJic  Central 
yervous  System  (pp.  111-116)  It.  I*.  Malleck  gives  a  collection  of  Imagery 
drawn  from  odours  In  the  works  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 


158  PSYCHOLOGY 

There  is  thus  a  certain  {Esthetic  quality  in  odours 
which  was  sought  in  vain  in  tastes.  This  is  due,  of 
course,  to  that  refinement  which,  as  already  explained, 
consists  in  the  ability  to  rise  beyond  the  merely  sensu- 
ous act.  Such  refinement,  however,  has  not  only  an 
aesthetic  but  a  moral  aspect,  as  will  appear  more  fully 
in  the  third  Part  of  this  Book.  The  consciousness, 
raised  beyond  the  sensation  of  the  moment  into  a  per- 
manent relation,  is  delivered  from  bondage  to  a  momen- 
tary impulse,  becomes  capable  of  determination  by 
thought;  so  that  there  is  not  in  smell  the  intrinsic 
tendency  that  there  is  in  taste  to  enslave  the  will  to 
sensuous  indulgence. 

§  3.  —  Perceptions  of  Touch. 

Here  there  is  a  great  advance  in  capacity  for  knowl- 
edge, and  that  especially  in  perceptions  that  involve 
the  relations  of  space.  The  acuteness  of  tactual  per- 
ception varies  in  different  individuals  and  even  in  the 
same  individual  at  different  times,  for  it  depends  on 
the  use  that  has  been  made  of  the  hands.  This  is  evi- 
dent, not  only  for  the  general  reason  that  all  percep- 
tions are  developed  by  practice,  but  for  the  special 
reason  that  the  sensibility  of  the  fingers  is  necessarily 
affected  by  the  use  to  which  they  have  been  put.  It  is 
a  provision  of  nature  for  the  protection  of  the  sensi- 
tive true  skin  and  the  adjacent  tissues,  that  any  part 
of  the  body  exposed  to  rough  hard  contacts  develops  a 
thicker  cuticle.  This,  however,  necessarily  blunts  the 
sensibility  of  the  part  so  protected.  It  is  therefore 
easily  understood  why  we  associate  a  hardened  hand 


PERCEPTION  159 

'  with  rough  manual  labour,  and  never  expect  from  it 
any  power  of  delicate  manipulation.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  soft  skin  is  usually  combined  with  a  corre- 
sponding fineness  of  touch. 

The  perceptions  of  touch  may  be  divided  in  accord- 
ance with  the  two  main  varieties  of  tactual  sensation, 
which  were  seen  to  depend  on  different  degrees  of 
pressure  and  on  distinctness  in  the  points  of  pressure. 
Both  of  these  forms  of  touch  were  showTi  to  be  ordinarily 
associated  with  muscular  sensations.  All  the  common 
perceptions  of  touch  therefore  are  in  reality  muscular 
perceptions  as  well.  In  so  far  as  any  idea  of  movement 
is  involved,  the  perception  is  based  almost  entirely  on 
muscular  sensibility;  but  the  sense  of  touch  is  neces- 
sarily called  into  play  in  associating  the  movement  with 
an  extraorganic  body  in  contact  with  the  skin.  Accord- 
ingly, in  analysing  the  perceptions  of  touch,  it  must 
always  be  understood,  even  when  it  is  not  explicitly 
stated,  that  muscular  perceptions  are  involved. 

(A)  The  perception  of  different  degrees  of  pressure^ 
though  ordinarily  due  to  the  assistance  of  the  muscular 
sense,  is  still  to  some  extent  a  perception  of  touch ;  and 
it  has  been  already  observed  that  the  experiments  of 
Weber  tend  to  show  that  the  sensibility  of  the  skin  to 
separate  points  is  a  fair  standard  of  its  sensibility  to 
different  degrees  of  pressure.  Thus  the  finger-tips  can 
discriminate  20  ounces  from  19.2  ounces,  while  the 
obtuse  forearm  requires  a  difference  of  20  ounces  from 
18.7  ounces  before  it  can  be  perceived. 

In  ordinary  life  a  valuable  perception  connected  with 
this  sensibility  is  the  delicacy  which  the  physician  ac- 
quires in  "  feeling  "  the  pulse  of  a  patient.     The  most 


160  PSYCHOLOGY 

common  perceptions  of  this  sort,  however,  are  probably 
those  implied  in  the  accuracy  with  w^hich  tools  may  be 
handled;  but  as  these  perceptions  involve  a  peculiar 
complication  arising  from  the  use  of  a  tool,  it  will 
be  convenient  to  reserve  them  for  subsequent  explana- 
tion. If  w^e  leave  the  ordinary  perceptions  of  human 
life,  the  blind  will  furnish  many  extraordinary  ex- 
amples of  acuteness  in  the  perception  of  which  we  are 
speaking.  Thus  the  celebrated  blind  and  deaf  mute, 
Laura  Bridgman,  distinguished  her  friends  by  the  touch 
of  their  hands;  and  in  this  way  she  could  retain  the 
memory  of  a  hand  for  years.  She  was  also  accustomed 
to  conjecture  the  degree  of  a  visitor's  intelligence  by 
the  muscular  tonicity  or  movement  of  his  hand,  and  at 
an  early  period  she  learnt  to  detect  the  hand  of  an 
idiot  by  its  peculiar  flabbiness.^  Dugald  Stewart  cites 
instances  of  blind  men  who  could  feel  their  approach 
to  a  solid  obstacle  by  the  pulse  of  the  air  on  the  face.^ 
It  does  not,  indeed,  seem  necessary  to  be  blind  in  order 
to  acquire  the  perception.  Many  persons,  while  walking 
in  the  dark,  have  been  prevented  from  dashing  against 
some  object  in  the  way  by  a  peculiar  feeling  which  they 
may  not  have  been  able  to  explain.  Yet  the  explanation 
is  not  far  to  seek.  In  walking  we  push  before  us  a 
column  of  air,  as  a  vessel,  moving  through  the  water, 
raises  a  wave  at  its  bow.  The  wave  of  the  atmosphere 
which  we  bear  before  us  rolls  on  undisturbed  till  it  strikes 
some  resisting  body,  when  it  surges  back  upon  us;  and 
with  the  attention  unusually  strained  to  catch  the  slight- 
est w^arning  of  an  obstacle,  it  is  not  unintelligible  that 

»  Mind  for  April,  1879,  p.  162. 

*  Works,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  304,  note  (Hamilton's  ed.). 


PERCEPTION  161 

the  increased  beat  of  the  air  should  be  felt  upon  the 

face.^ 

These  perceptions  of  touch,  however,  must  not  be 
supposed  to  be  intuitions.     Like  all  other  perceptions, 
they  are  products  of  association  and  comparison;    they 
are  efforts  of  intelligence  to  interpret  various  sensations 
of  touch  by  connecting  them  with  the  various  modes  of 
pressure  from  which  they  arise.     For  these  sensations 
may  be  due  to  varying  weights,  to  hardness  and  softness, 
or  to  some  peculiarity  in  the  figure  of  a  body,  causing 
one  part  of  its  surface  to  press  more  strongly  than  an- 
other.    All  perception  of  such  facts  is  the  result  of  an 
intellectual  process,  —  of  association  and  comparison. 
This  may  be  made  evident  by  one  or  two  simple  experi- 
ments.    These  experiments  are  taken  from  a  class  of 
phenomena  which  may  be  called  illusory  perceptions, 
and  which  are  of  great  psychological  value  for  the  light 
they  throw  on  the  processes  of  intelligence.     They  show 
that  once  an  idea  has  been  associated  with  some  sen- 
sation, it  may  at  any  time  be  suggested  by  the  sensation, 
even  when  it  represents  no  corresponding  reality.     It  is 
thus  seen  that  the  reality  is  not  revealed  by  a  direct 
intuition,  but  is  simply  suggested  as  the  result  of  a 
previous  association. 

Our  first  experiment  illustrates  the  suggestiveness  of 
touches.  It  is  evident  that  a  convex  surface,  when 
drawn  across  the  hand,  tends  to  press  more  strongly  in 

»  Since  writing  the  above  I  have  noted  the  following  remark  about 
Laura  Bridgmau :  "  She  jxM-ceives  the  approach  of  persons  by  the 
undulations  of  the  air  striking  her  face"  (Dr.  Howe's  Reports,  p.  180). 
Fortunately  all  Dr.  Howe's  own  reports  in  reference  to  Laura  Brldgraan 
have  been  collected,  and  published  as  an  appendix  to  the  Forty-Eif/hth 
Annual  Report  of  the  Perkins  Institution.  It  is  to  the  paging  of  this 
collection  that  my  quotations  refer. 

11 


162  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  middle  than  at  the  extremities,  while  the  opposite 
is  the  case  with  concave  surfaces.  These  inequalities 
of  surface  therefore  come  to  be  associated  with  the 
varying  degrees  of  pressure  which  they  produce.  Now, 
if  a  plane  surface  is  drawn  over  the  hand  of  a  person 
blindfolded,  it  will  appear  convex  or  concave  according 
as  the  pressure  is  increased  or  diminished  towards  the 
centre,  the  differences  of  pressure  suggesting  irresistibly 
the  convexity  or  concavity  with  which  they  are  usually 
associated. 

Another  illusory  perception  illustrates  the  suggesti- 
bility of  tactual  sensations.  Heavy  bodies,  like  the  com- 
mon metals,  are  usually  colder  than  the  skin,  and  there- 
fore heaviness  in  a  body  comes  to  be  associated  with  the 
feeling  of  its  being  cold.  It  is  evidently  a  result  of  this 
association,  that  if  tv/o  bodies  of  equal  weight  but  un- 
equal temperatures  are  held  in  the  hands,  the  colder 
appears  the  heavier.^  This  illusion  is  illustrated  by 
another  which  is  based  on  a  similar  association,  —  an 
association,  namely,  between  weight  and  metallic  lustre. 
It  is  told  of  Dr.  Pearson,  that,  when  he  first  received  on 
his  finger  a  globule  of  potassium  which  had  been  pro- 
duced by  Sir  H.  Da\^'s  battery,  he  exclaimed,  "  Bless 
me,  how  heavy  it  is !  ''  Many  persons  influenced  by  the 
same  association  must  have  felt  a  disappointment,  ap- 
proaching to  a  sort  of  insipidity,  in  handling  the  lighter 
metals.  In  fact,  any  light  substance  like  a  soft  wood, 
coated  with  a  successful  imitation  of  metallic  lustre, 


^  Professor  BaiD  ascribes  this  illusion  to  "  the  depressing  effect  of 
cold"  {The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  p.  172,  3d  ed.).  This  means,  I 
presume,  that  cold  lowers  the  muscular  energy,  and  demands  therefore 
a  greater  strain  in  sustaining  a  weight.  To  this  It  is  an  objection, 
that  only  an  extreme  cold  has  this  effect ;   moderate  cold  is  stimulating. 


PEECEPTIO:^^  163 

suggests  a  heaviness  whicli  we  are  amusingly  disap- 
pointed not  to  feel. 

(B)  In  the  perception  of  distinct  points  touch  is 
usually  combined  with  muscular  sense  by  passing 
the  finger-tips  over  the  surface  examined;  and  this  is 
what  commonly  is  understood  by  "  feeling ''  a  body. 
Apparently  the  friction  thus  caused  excites  the  papillae 
more  vigorously,  while  the  movement,  with  minute 
bodies  at  least,  avoids  the  insensitive  spots  of  the  skin 
and  at  the  same  time  varies  the  impression  produced. 
In  this  way  great  delicacy  may  often  be  acquired  in 
perceiving  minute  differences  in  the  structure  of  sur- 
faces and  the  texture  of  stuffs.  It  is  by  this  delicate 
perception  that  the  clothier  detects  the  quality  of  a  cloth, 
the  miller  and  flour-inspector  determine  the  grades  of 
flour.  Marvellous  to  others,  and  perhaps  inexplicable 
to  himself,  is  the  accuracy  with  which  a  bank-teller 
detects  the  presence  of  a  counterfeit  among  a  thou- 
sand notes  that  are  passing  rapidly  through  his  fingers. 
An  astonishing  illustration  of  the  increased  sensibility 
which  may  be  given  to  touch  by  the  concentration  of 
intelligent  attention  upon  its  impressions  seems  to  be 
furnished  by  so-called  thought-reading.  The  most  dis- 
tinguished of  recent  performers  in  this  art  assures  us 
that  he  pretends  to  no  immediate  clairvoyance  of  another 
person's  thoughts,  but  that  in  his  case  thought-reading 
is  simply  "  an  exalted  perception  of  touch."  ^ 

But  here,  again,  it  is  among  the  blind  that  we  look 
for  the  most  extraordinary  instances  of  acute  perception. 
It  is  asked  in  an  old  play,  — 

*  See  an  Interesting  article  on  A  Thought-Reader' a  Experiences,  by 
Stuart  C.  Cumberland,  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  for  December,  1886, 
especially  pp.  878,  884. 


164  PSYCHOLOGY 

"  Whose  hand  so  subtle  he  can  colours  name, 
If  he  do  wink  and  touch  'em  V  "  ^ 

Nevertheless,  some  of  the  blind  are  said  to  be  capiible 
of  distinguishing  colours  by  touch.  This  would  mean 
that  surfaces  which  to  sight  produce  sensations  of  dif- 
ferent colours  reveal  to  touch  also  a  perceptible  differ- 
ence; and  this  is  a  priori  not  inconceivable,  for  the 
peculiar  structure  of  a  surface,  which  makes  it  reflect 
only  certain  rays  of  light  and  absorb  all  the  rest,  may, 
in  some  cases  at  least,  be  perceptible  to  a  delicate  touch. 
Still,  the  possession  of  this  perception  has  been  denied 
by  some  who  claim  large  opportunities  of  observation.^ 
Nevertheless,  touch  does  at  times  acquire  powers  that 
are  quite  as  wonderful.  One  of  the  most  common  and 
useful  applications  of  an  educated  touch  among  the 
blind  at  the  present  day  is  the  reading  of  a  raised  type. 
Laura  Bridgman,  we  are  told,  "  estimates  the  age  of  her 
visitors  by  feeling  the  wrinkles  about  their  eyes,  and 
tells  the  frame  of  mind  of  her  friends  by  touching  their 
faces,  nearly  as  accurately  as  a  seeing  person  could  do."  ^ 
In  fact,  w^hen  combined  with  muscular  sensibility  and 
aided  by  hearing,  touch  can  compensate  for  the  loss  of 
sight  to  a  degree  which  would  be  incredible,  were  it  not 
authenticated  by  daily  observations  and  unexceptionable 
evidence.  In  the  annals  of  the  blind,  therefore,  we  have 
numerous  examples  of  men  and  women  w^ho  in  spite  of 
their  defect  have  pursued  with  success  not  only  various 
branches  of  science,  but  also  various  industrial  occupa- 

*  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Knight  of  Malta,  Act  I.,  Scene  1. 

2  See  Mrs.  Lamson's  Life  and  Education  of  Laura  Bridgman,  p.  60  ; 
Quarterly  Review  for  October,  1865.  On  the  other  side,  see  Carpenter's 
Human  Physiology^  §  738  ;  and  Todd  and  Bowman's  Physiology,  p.  376 
(Amer.  ed.). 

3  Mind  for  April,  1879,  p.  162. 


perceptio:n"  igs 

tions,  which  must  have  involved  a  wonderful  delicacy 
of  touch. -^ 

But  for  all  men  the  most  common  and  most  important 
perceptions  of  this  sense  are  those  which  refer  to  the 
separateness  of  different  points,  and  which  involve  there- 
fore the  three  dimensions  of  space,  —  linear,  plane,  and 
cubical  extension.  x\ll  those  perceptions  which  relate 
to  the  magnitude,  figure,  distance,  and  situation  of 
bodies  come  under  this  head;  for  all  these  attributes 
simply  mean  the  distance  of  different  points  from  one 
another  in  different  directions.  Greater  or  less  magni- 
tude implies  the  greater  or  less  distance  between  the 
extreme  points  of  a  body;  figure  is  merely  an  expres- 
sion for  the  distance  at  which  the  different  points  in 
the  outline  or  surface  of  a  body  stand  apart.  In  these 
perceptions  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  touch  reveals 
absolute  dimensions.  This  supposition  it  is  necessary 
to  guard  against;  for  in  ordinary  thought,  and  even 
among  older  psychologists,  it  is  a  common  representation 
that  tangible,  as  distinguished  from  visible,  dimensions 
are  the  real  dimensions  of  bodies,  and  that  therefore 
the  sense  of  touch  corrects,  by  reference  to  reality,  the 
illusory  appearances  presented  by  sight.  This  view, 
however,  was  exposed  long  ago  by  Berkeley,  and  has 
been  thoroughly  dispelled  by  the  more  accurate  examina- 
tion of  tactile  perceptions  inaugurated  in  those  experi- 
ments of  Weber  which  were  described  above.  ^  It  is 
now  kno\^Ti  that  the  perception  of  dimension,  as  well  as 
the  perception  of  different  degrees  of  pressure,  is  due 
to  association  and  comparison.    Indeed,  the  philosopher, 

*  Interesting  Information   on   these  points  will   be  found   in   Levy's 
Blindness  and  the  Blind,  especially  pp.  336-372. 
'  See  pp.  46-47. 


166  PSYCHOLOGY 

who  was  probably  in  modern  times  the  greatest  repre- 
sentative of  the  doctrine  which  holds  that  we  have  an 
intuitive  perception  of  external  reality,  is  quite  as  ex- 
plicit as  any  other  in  denying  any  perception  of  exten- 
sion in  its  real  or  absolute  magnitude.-^ 

To  illustrate  this  let  us  take  the  perception  of  magni- 
tude. Is  there  any  absolute  magnitude  revealed  to 
touch  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  tangible  magnitude  of  a 
body  depends  on  the  part  of  the  organism  with  which 
it  is  in  contact.  It  has  been  already  observed  that  at 
some  parts  of  the  skin  the  points  of  a  pair  of  compasses 
are  felt  to  be  distinct  only  when  they  are  placed  between 
two  and  three  inches  apart,  while  they  can  be  distin- 
guished by  the  tip  of  the  forefinger  when  separated 
only  by  one-twelfth  of  an  inch,  and  even  at  the  half  of 
that  distance  by  the  tip  of  the  tongue.  As  a  result  of 
this,  two  fixed  points  appear  to  be  more  distant  when 
felt  by  a  sensitive  than  when  felt  by  an  obtuse  part  of 
the  skin.  If  the  two  points  therefore  are  drawn  from 
the  soft  part  of  the  arm  over  the  palm  to  the  finger-tips, 
they  appear  to  separate;  while  they  seem  to  approach 
if  drawn  in  the  opposite  direction.  Consequently  a 
body  impresses  us  as  being  of  greater  magnitude  when 
touched  by  a  more  acute  part  of  the  organism.  A 
familiar  illustration  of  this  is  the  fact  that  a  tooth  when 
touched  by  the  tongue  appears  larger  than  when  touched 
by  the  finger.  We  should  commonly  express  this  by 
saying  that  the  tooth  appears  larger  than  it  really  is; 
for  our  ideas  of  real  magnitude  are  connected  mainly 
with  the  special  organ  of  touch,  the  finger-tips.  But 
the  unaided  sensibility  gives  us  no  absolute  standard 

I  Sir  W.  Hamilton  in  his  edition  of  Reid's  Works,  pp.  881-882. 


PERCEPTION  167 

of  dimensions,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  we  are  obliged 
to  adopt  independent  instruments  of  measurement. 

Take,  again,  the  perception  of  the  situation  of  bodies. 
This  perception  depends  on  the  relative  situations  of  the 
different  parts  of  the  skin  that  are  touched.  Now  the 
natural  situations  of  these  different  parts  may  be  arti- 
ficially altered ;  and  an  illusory  perception  is  the  result, 
for  suggestion  follows  the  normal  situation  of  the  points 
of  contact.  Thus,  if  a  pellet  is  placed  between  the  two 
forefingers  crossed,  we  seem  to  perceive,  not  one,  but 
two  bodies.  The  reason  is,  that  the  sides  of  the  fingers 
touched  cannot  in  their  natural  position  be  touched  by 
a  single  body  at  the  same  time,  and  therefore  the  simul- 
taneous touch  of  both  by  the  pellet  suggests  irresistibly 
the  idea  of  two  separate  bodies. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  a  remarkable  accession  of 
faculty  in  this  sense,  at  least  wdien  it  is  combined,  as  it 
usually  is,  with  the  muscular  sense.  When  any  object, 
such  as  a  stick,  is  held  by  one  end  in  the  hand,  while 
the  other  end  is  brought  against  any  resisting  body,  the 
hand  feels  a  corresponding  tactile  impression.  By 
association  with  its  cause  in  the  resisting  body  we  learn 
to  interpret  this  impression,  so  that  it  seems  to  travel 
along  the  object  in  the  hand  to  the  point  where  the 
resistance  is  made.  The  sense  of  touch  is  thus  taught 
to  bring  within  its  ken  bodies  that  are  not  in  immediate 
contact  with  its  organ;  it  learns  to  perceive  the  exact 
position  which  such  bodies  occupy  in  space,  as  well  as 
their  mechanical  properties,  their  roughness  and  smooth- 
ness, their  hardness  and  softness,  and  their  weight.  We 
speak,  in  fact,  of  feeling  or  touching  a  distant  body  by 
means  of  a  stick  or  other  instrument  held  in  the  hand; 


168  PSYCHOLOGY 

and  the  skill  of  the  painter  in  handling  his  brush,  as 
well  as  that  of  a  musician  in  handling  his  instrument, 
is  often  described  as  his  touch.  The  value  of  this  sort 
of  touch  for  guidance  to  the  blind  is  strikingly  expressed 
by  the  ancient  Greeks  in  the  myth  of  the  blind  Teiresias 
receiving  from  Athena  the  gift  of  a  staff  by  which  he 
was  able  to  direct  his  movements  as  accurately  as  if  he 
had  been  restored  to  sight.  But  for  all  men  the  vast 
extension  of  tactile  and  muscular  perception  by  this 
means  will  be  realised  when  it  is  remembered  that  all 
the  mechanical  skill  which  we  owe  to  the  use  of  tools 
depends  on  the  readiness  with  which  the  sensibility 
transfers  itself  to  the  point  or  edge  of  the  tool  used. 
It  is  by  this  transference  of  sensibility  that  man  ac- 
quires all  his  marvellous  accuracy  in  directing  pen  and 
pencil,  chisel  and  knife,  hatchet  and  sword,  —  in  short, 
all  the  various  instruments  by  which  he  has  made  nat- 
ural forces  subservient  to  the  necessities  and  enjoyments 
of  his  life. 

By  this  extension  of  the  sphere  of  tactile  perception 
it  has  been  ingeniously  suggested  that  we  may  explain 
the  fashion  of  carrying  canes,  of  wearing  large  head- 
dresses, and  other  ornamental  additions  to  the  person, 
as  if  by  such  means  the  body  were  felt  to  expand  in 
its  proportions.^  In  this  connection  may  be  mentioned 
an  equally  ingenious  explanation  of  the  various  actions 
which  have  been  adopted  as  expressions  of  respect  or 
humiliation  in  presence  of  a  superior,  —  bowing,  kneel- 
ing, uncovering  the  head  or  the  feet,  —  as  all  involving 
the  same  idea,  that  of  a  diminution  of  the  person.^ 

*  Lotze's  Mikrokosmus,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  196-197. 

*  D.  Stewart's  Philosophy  of  the  Active  and  Moral  Powers,  Vol.  I., 
p.  248,  note  (Hamilton's  ed.). 


PERCEPTION  169 

It  needs  but  few  words,  beyond  the  exposition  already 
given  of  tactile  perceptions,  to  prove  the  intellectual 
superiority  of  touch  as  compared  with  taste  or  smell. 
That  exposition  has  shown  that  the  sensations  of  this 
sense  admit  of  being  more  clearly  identified  and  dis- 
tinguished both  in  presentation  and  representation. 

1.  That  the  actual  sensations  can  be  more  easily 
compared  must  be  evident  from  the  fact  that  they  may 
be  discriminated,  not  only  when  occurring  in  rapid 
succession,  but  even  when  they  are  simultaneous.  It  is 
this  discrimination  of  simultaneous  touches  that  enables 
us  to  cognise  distinct  points,  and  thus  to  attain  all 
those  perceptions  which  imply  extension  in  its  different 
dimensions.  There  is  an  obvious  organic  basis  for  such 
discrimination,  as  will  appear  on  comparing  the  organ 
of  touch  with  that  of  taste  or  smell,  as  well  as  in  com- 
paring different  parts  of  the  skin  with  one  another.  In 
taste  and  smell  a  considerable  sensitive  surface  must 
always  be  affected  with  many  nerve-fibres  indiscrimi- 
nately excited  at  the  same  time.  In  touch  it  becomes 
possible  to  stimulate  neighbouring  fibres  separately; 
and  there  is  a  provision  at  some  points,  such  as  the 
finger-tips  and  the  tip  of  the  tongue  for  specially  deli- 
cate discrimination  in  the  minute  subdivision  of  the 
fibres. 

2.  It  is  equally  evident  that  tactile  sensations  are 
more  distinctly  representahle.  A  touch  can  be  clearly 
revived  in  memory,  and  even  referred  in  memory  to 
the  precise  spot  on  the  periphery  where  it  was  originally 
felt.  It  must  be  this  circumstance  mainly  that  has  led 
to  the  general  use  of  skin-inflictions  in  the  discipline  of 
sentient  beings ;   for  it  is  obviously  of  prime  importance 


170  PSYCHOLOGY 

in  such  discipline  that  the  pains  intended  to  deter  from 
any  act  should  be  at  once  such  as  are  easily  remembered, 
and  such  as  are  easily  associated  with  the  act  from 
which  they  are  to  deter.  A  remarkable  proof  of  the 
distinct  hold  which  touches  may  retain  on  the  memory 
is  furnished  by  not  a  few  of  the  blind,  after  an  interval 
of  many  years,  recognising  an  old  acquaintance  imme- 
diately by  the  grasp  of  his  hand.  Gough,  the  blind 
botanist,  had  in  his  old  age  a  rare  plant  put  into  his 
hands.  After  a  brief  examination  he  gave  it  its  name, 
observing  at  the  same  time  that  he  had  met  with  only 
one  specimen  of  the  plant  before,  and  that  was  fifty 
years  ago.^ 

This  leads  to  the  additional  observation,  that  touches 
are  as  easily  associable  as  they  are  comparable,  —  that 
they  are  at  once  readily  suggested  and  powerfully  sug- 
gestive. They  fill  therefore  a  much  larger  place  than 
either  tastes  or  odours  in  the  memory  and  imagination 
of  men.  It  is  thus  that  "  the  touch  of  a  vanished 
hand "  is  in  itself  so  clearly  revivable,  and,  even  as 
a  mere  revival,  is  endowed  with  such  power  to 
recall  the  thoughts  and  emotions  with  which  it  has 
been  associated. 

It  might  be  expected,  since  touches  can  so  readily 
form  a  vivid  imagery,  that  they  would  enter  extensively 
into  the  material  of  poetry,  and  yet  the  poetic  value 
assigned  to  them  is  usually  insignificant.  This  may  be 
partly  due  to  the  slight  emotional  value  of  touches,  — 
an  aesthetic  defect,  of  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
speak  again.  But  another  explanation  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  a  large  portion  of  tactile  perceptions 

*  The  Lost  Senses,  by  Dr.  Kitto,  p.  347  (Amer.  ed.). 


PERCEPTION  ITl 

go  to  enrich  the  perceptions  of  sight  and  consequently 
become  absorbed  in  these.     All  ideas  of  figure,  size, 
situation,  —  all  the  ideas  that  involve  extension,  —  are 
in  the  ordinary  mind  indissolubly  associated  with  sight, 
though  undoubtedly  derived  in  a  large  measure  from 
tactile  and  muscular  sensibility.    But  in  those  abnormal 
mental  developments  which  by  reason  of  congenital  blind- 
ness have  been  unaided  by  sight,  we  can  study  more 
conveniently  the  separate  contributions  of  touch  to  our 
intelligence ;    and  it  is  evident,  from  such  a  study,  that 
the  place  ordinarily  occupied  by  visual  ideas  is  repre- 
sented in  such  minds  by  ideas  derived  from  touch  and 
the  muscular  sense.     As  a  result  of  this  it  appears  that 
among  the  congenitally  blind  poetical  ideas  are  asso- 
ciated  with  touches  quite   as  naturally   as  among  the 
seeing  they  are  attached  to  sights  and  sounds.     The 
sentiment  of  the  beautiful  appears  to  find  material  in 
the  pleasant  touch  of  soft,  smooth,  curved  surfaces  and 
undulating  lines,  while  the  horror  of  ugliness  is  excited 
by   the   repulsive   feeling  of  hard   rough   bodies   with 
jagged  angular  forms.^ 

§  4.  —  Perceptions  of  Hearing. 

These  perceptions  may  be  conveniently  grouped  in 
two  classes;  for  some  of  them  are  founded  on  the 
general  sensibility  of  the  ear  to  all  sorts  of  sound, 
others  on  its  special  sensibility  to  tones.  The  former 
may  be  described  as  the  non-musical,  the  latter  as  the 
musical,  perceptions  of  hearing. 

»  The  Lost  Senses,  by  Dr.  Kltto,  pp.  342-343  (Amer.  ed.)  ;  and 
Beauties  and  Achievements  of  the  Blind,  by  W.  Artmann  and  L.  V.  Hall. 


172  PSYCHOLOGY 

(A)  The  non-musical  perceptions  reveal  sometimes 
geometrical  relations,  sometimes  the  physical  properties 
of  bodies. 

I.  With  regard  to  the  first  of  these  two  kinds  of 
perception  it  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  they 
are  not  immediate  intuitions,  through  the  ear,  of  spatial 
relations.  Sound  in  itself  implies  no  idea  of  space,  of 
here  and  there,  of  long  and  short,  of  far  and  near. 
Sounds  are  sensations,  differing  in  intensity,  pitch,  and 
quality,  but  indicating  no  relation  whatever  to  the 
dimensions  of  space.  These  dimensions,  in  short,  how- 
ever they  may  be  known,  cannot  be  heard,  any  more 
than  they  can  be  tasted  or  smelled.  How,  then,  do  we 
learn  to  perceive  space  by  sound  ?  We  acquire  this  per- 
ception in  the  same  way  as  we  acquire  any  other,  by 
association  and  comparison. 

This  perception,  as  already  remarked,  is  based  on  the 
sensibility  of  the  ear  to  sound  in  general.  E'ow  the 
property  which  all  sounds  possess  in  common  is  in- 
tensity, and  different  sounds  can  be  compared,  dis- 
criminated, in  respect  of  their  different  intensities. 
Moreover,  the  different  intensities  become  associated  in 
experience  with  different  relations  in  space.  Accord- 
ingly the  intensity  of  a  sound,  after  a  certain  length  of 
association,  forms  a  sign  of  the  spatial  relation  with 
which  it  has  been  associated.  There  are  two  such  rela- 
tions which  are  thus  made  known,  —  distance  and 
direction. 

1.  The  association  which  forms  the  perception  of 
distance  has  been  already  mentioned.  It  is  founded  on 
the  physical  law  that  the  sound-waves  in  the  atmosphere 
diminish  in  breadth,  and  therefore  impinge  with  less 


PERCEPTION"  173 

force  on  the  ear  the  farther  they  have  travelled.     As 
a  result  of  this,  loudness  becomes  a  common  sign  of 
proximity,  faintness  of  distance.     The  association,  in- 
deed,  is  not  absolutely   invariable ;  but  it  is  uniform 
enough  to  make  the  suggestion  of  the  fact  signified  by 
the  intensity  of  a  sound  almost  as  instantaneous  as  an 
immediate  intuition.     In  those  instances  in  which  the 
familiar  association  is  interrupted,  there  is  usually  some 
collateral  circumstance  which  prevents  us  from  being 
deceived.      In  the  case  of  thunder  and  artillery,   for 
example,  we  have  generally  learnt,  from  the  familiar 
character  of  the  sounds,  that  there  is  not  necessarily  any 
connection  between  their  loudness  and  the  close  prox- 
imity of  their  source;  on  the  other  hand,  the  recogni- 
tion of  a  sound  as  a  whisper  dissociates  its  faintness 
from  the  idea  of  distance.     Still,  we  are  deceived  often 
by  the  habit  of  this  association,  oftenest  probably  by  a 
faint  sound  suggesting  irresistibly  a  remote  sonorous 
body.     In  fact,  the  art  of  the  ventriloquist,  apart  from 
his  histrionic  power  and  his  skill  in  mimicking  various 
voices,  aims  at  producing  an  illusory  perception  of  hear- 
ing by  imitation  of  the  signs  with  which  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  associate  different  distances. 

2.  The  perception  of  the  direction  of  a  sound  — 
that  is,  of  the  situation  of  a  sonorous  body  in  reference 
to  our  OAvn  position  in  space  —  is  also  due  to  the  dis- 
crimination of  different  intensities  of  sounds;  but  it 
implies  that  we  discriminate  the  intensities  of  the  sen- 
sations in  the  two  ears.  The  ear  which  is  nearest  to  a 
sonorous  body  will  receive  its  sound  with  greater  force, 
and  from  this  fact  we  learn  to  recognise  the  direction 
in  which  the  sound  comes. 


174  PSYCHOLOGY 

Here,  again,  in  mature  intelligence  the  process  be- 
comes so  rapid,  from  long  association,  that  we  fail  to 
analyse  it  in  ordinary  perceptions.  But  the  process 
may  yet  be  detected  in  two  circumstances,  (a)  WTien 
we  are  uncertain  about  the  direction  of  a  sound,  as  we 
must  be  if  its  cause  is  right  above  or  beneath,  right  in 
front  or  behind,  we  keep  tentatively  altering  the  posi- 
tion of  the  head,  till  we  satisfy  ourselves  by  catching 
the  sound  more  strongly  on  one  ear.  (&)  It  is  the 
experience  of  persons  who  have  lost  the  sensibility  of 
one  ear,  that  they  lose  also,  to  a  large  extent,  the 
power  of  perceiving  the  direction  of  sounds. 

Still,  there  is  ground  for  believing  that  this  percep- 
tion has  been  exaggerated,  so  far  as  it  is  supposed  to 
be  independent  on  any  extraneous  knowledge  of  the 
situation  of  audible  bodies.  When,  for  example,  you 
are  in  a  company  of  several  persons,  and  are  able  to 
turn  without  hesitation  to  each  whenever  his  voice  is 
heard,  your  perception  of  the  direction  of  the  voice  is 
in  all  probability  to  be  ascribed  mainly  to  your  previous 
acquaintance  with  the  peculiar  tones  of  the  various  per- 
sons in  the  company,  and  with  the  various  positions 
which  they  respectively  occupy.  This  may  be  confirmed 
by  a  simple  experiment.  In  any  company  of  persons 
with  the  average  power  of  hearing  let  a  number  submit 
to  be  blindfolded  one  after  another.  Pass  a  little  bell 
stealthily  around  the  room  to  be  tinkled  at  various  posi- 
tions, requiring  the  person  blindfolded  to  determine  the 
direction  of  the  sound.  Few  will  be  found  able  to  indi- 
cate the  direction  with  any  degree  of  accuracy,  except 
when  it  is  very  decidedly  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  It 
appears,  however,  that  sounds  of  moderately  high  pitch 


PERCEPTION  175 

indicate  their  direction  most  clearly ;  bass  tones  seem  to 
excite  the  general  sensibility  to  vibratory  movement,  and 
thus  to  create  a  confused  hum  all  over  the  head  in  place 
of  a  special  sensation  of  clear  sound  distinctly  differen- 
tiated in  one  of  the  ears. 

At  the  same  time  the  experience  of  the  blind  seems  to 
prove  that  the  auditory  perception  of  direction  as  well 
as  of  distance  admits  of  being  trained  to  increased  acute- 
ness.  Once  in  my  class-room,  while  trying  the  experi- 
ment with  a  bell  which  has  just  been  described,  after 
several  students  had  amused  their  class-fellows  by  their 
wild  guesses  and  ludicrous  mistakes,  a  blind  student, 
an  excellent  musician,  requested  to  be  allowed  to  take 
the  stand.  He  was  tried  with  the  bell  in  every  position 
we  could  think  of,  even  directly  in  front,  directly  be- 
hind, and  directly  over  the  middle  of  his  head ;  but  he 
never  hesitated  for  a  moment  to  point  his  finger  to  the 
exact  spot  where  the  bell  was  tinkling.  If  such  acuteness 
of  perception  can  be  trained,  it  is  evidently  of  incalcu- 
lable importance  to  discover  the  method  of  training. 
This  is  specially  the  case  for  the  purposes  of  maritime 
commerce,  for  the  mariner  is  often  placed  in  situations 
in  which  safety  lies  mainly,  if  not  entirely,  in  the  acute- 
ness of  his  hearing.  Some  work,  however,  has  yet  to  be 
done,  perhaps  more  by  acoustics  and  physiology  than  by 
psychology,  in  analysing  the  process  by  which  accuracy 
can  be  attained  in  perceiving  the  direction  and  distance 
of  sounds. 

IL  Physical  properties,  as  well  as  geometrical,  are 
associated  with  sound,  and  thus  perceived  by  its  means. 
This  is  the  case,  for  example,  with  the  weight  of  bodies, 
which  is  apt  to  show  a  certain  correspondence  with  the 


176  PSYCHOLOGY 

intensity  of  the  sounds  they  produce.  We  thus  distin- 
guish easily  the  tread  of  an  adult  from  the  light  footstep 
of  a  child,  we  detect  at  once  the  heavy  foot  of  a  man 
bearing  a  burden,  and  we  can  tell  whether  the  vehicle 
which  we  hear  passing  down  the  street  is  a  loaded 
waggon  or  an  empty  cart.  Perceptions  of  this  sort,  like 
those  of  direction  and  distance,  are  capable  of  being 
educated.  This  is  proved  by  the  experience  of  the  blind, 
among  whom,  of  course,  such  perceptions  are  peculiarly 
frequent  and  acute.  In  fact,  their  appreciation  of 
minute  differences  in  the  intensity  and  pitch  of  sounds 
forms  one  of  the  chief  guides  in  threading  their  way 
through  crowded  thoroughfares.  The  blind  student  who 
has  just  been  mentioned  as  exhibiting  extraordinary 
acuteness  in  perceiving  the  direction  of  a  sound  told  me 
that  in  travelling  by  rail  he  can  tell  by  his  ear  when  the 
train  is  passing  a  telegraph-post,  just  as  other  persons 
ordinarily  notice  the  varying  modifications  of  noise  as 
the  railway  is  out  in  the  open,  runs  through  a  rocky 
cutting  or  a  tunnel,  or  under  a  bridge. 

(B)  The  value  of  the  musical  perceptions  of  the  ear 
is  evinced  in  the  fact  that  they  form  the  basis  at  once  of 
articulate  speech  and  of  the  fine  art  of  music. 

I.  Articulate  speech  depends  on  the  power  of  dis- 
criminating the  musical  properties  of  sound.  This  is 
evident  from  an  examination  of  the  vocal  organ  of  man, 
as  well  as  of  the  elementary  sounds  whose  combinations 
form  his  spoken  language. 

1.  The  organ  of  the  human  voice  is,  in  the  strictest 
sense,  a  musical  instrument  of  the  reed  sort.  The 
structures  which  play  the  part  of  reeds  are  the  vocal 
cords,  —  two    elastic    ligaments,    which    are    stretched 


PERCEPTION  177 

across  the  upper  part  of  the  larynx,  and  are  thrown  into 
vibration  by  the  expired  breath.  In  fact,  in  singing,  the 
organ  of  the  voice  is  used  for  strictly  musical  purposes. 

2.  The  articulate  sounds  produced  by  this  organ 
have  from  ancient  times  been  divided  into  two  classes,  — 
consonants  and  vowels. 

(a)  The  consonants  —  literae  consonantes  —  are  not, 
indeed,  independent  sounds;  they  can  be  sounded  only 
along  with  the  vowels.  They  are  simply  checks  on  the 
vowel  sounds,  produced  by  obstruction  of  the  breath  after 
it  has  issued  from  the  larynx ;  and  the  difference  of  the 
consonants  depends  on  the  point  where  the  obstruction 
is  formed.  Is  the  breath  checked  just  as  it  leaves 
the  larynx  by  a  contraction  at  the  top  of  the  throat? 
we  have  a  guttural.  Is  it  allowed  to  pass  further,  and 
arrested  only  by  a  pressure  of  the  tongue  against  the 
teeth  ?  a  dental  is  the  result.  Is  it  not  stopped  till  we 
close  the  lips  upon  it  ?  then  they  produce  a  labial,  j^ow, 
although  to  the  philologist  tracing  the  modifications  of 
a  word,  or  to  the  elocutionist  anxious  about  distinct 
articulation,  the  consonants  form  the  most  important 
constituents  of  speech,  yet  phonetically  they  are  not 
essential.  A  word  may  be  formed  without  a  consonant, 
but  not  without  a  vowel. 

(h)  The  vowels  —  literae  vocales  —  are  independent 
sounds,  formed  by  the  current  of  breath  being  modified 
by  the  configuration  of  the  mouth.  A  change  in  the 
configuration  of  the  mouth  forms  it  into  a  practically 
new  instrument  by  giving  it  a  different  resonance ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  mouth  becomes  thus  tuned  to  a  different 
key,  and  adapted  to  resound  tones  that  are  in  harmony 
with  it.    The  result  is,  that  with  each  new  configuration 

12 


178  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  the  mouth  different  overtones  are  brought  into  prom- 
inence, and  consequently  the  vowels  are  distinguished 
from  one  another  by  the  quality  of  their  tone.  It  is  not 
necessary  here  to  enter  into  details  on  this  subject ;  these 
will  be  found  in  Helmholtz's  great  work,  which  has  been 
already  mentioned.^ 

Of  course  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  sounds  of 
the  voice  are  merely  the  raw  formless  materials  of 
speech.  That  there  is  a  strong  animal  instinct  to  use 
vocal  sounds  for  the  expression  of  mind  is  evinced  in  the 
inarticulate  cries  of  beasts  and  the  musical  notes  of 
birds.  For  though  it  be  true  that  the  young  bird  learns 
from  the  old,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  he  could  not 
find  his  voice  at  all  without  the  stimulating  example  of 
his  parent.  The  instinctive  impulses  from  his  own  sen- 
sations find  vent  in  vocal  utterance.  The  power  of  this 
instinct  in  human  life  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  infants 
begin  to  cry  almost  immediately  after  they  are  born, 
certainly  long  before  they  can  hear,  stimulated  evidently 
by  the  novel  sensations  of  their  strange  environment. 
Laura  Bridgman  ^  furnished  a  striking  illustration  of 
the  instinct.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  producing  vocal 
sounds,  which  she  must  have  felt  merely  as  muscular 
sensations  about  the  throat;  and  she  associated  them 
with  different  objects,  animate  and  inanimate,  in  the 
same  way  as  we  associate  words  with  objects  as  their 
names  or  signs.  Helen  Keller,  who  is  also  blind  and 
deaf,  exhibits  the  same  instinct.  Once,  when  a  mere 
child,  she  was  taken  to  a  circus.  Peeling,  through  her 
general   sensibility,  the  vibration  caused  by  the  roar 

^  LcJire  von  den  Tonempfindungen,  pp.  163-180. 

2  Mrs.  Lamson's  Life  and  Education  of  Laura  Bridgm>a,n,  pp,  xvi-xvil, 
61-62,  84  ;   Dr.  Howe's  Reports^  pp.  199-200  and  228, 


PERCEPTIO:^  1T9 

of  a  lion,  she  instinctively  made  an  attempt,  with  fair 
success,  to  reproduce  the  soimd  with  her  own  little 
voice.^  Dr.  Romanes  has  also  drawn  attention  to  the 
fact  that  very  young  children  originate  articulate  sounds 
of  their  own  which  they  associate  with  objects.^ 

All  such  sounds,  however,  as  already  observed,  are 
merely  the  raw  materials  of  speech.  They  can  even  be 
reproduced  by  many  of  the  lower  animals,  like  the  par- 
rot, which  have  a  powerful  instinct  of  mimicry  in  this 
direction.  But  the  essential  form  of  language  —  the 
syntax  or  intelligent  arrangement  of  articulate  sounds  — 
is  never  acquired  by  any  of  the  lower  animals.  Syntax 
implies  the  connection  of  different  thoughts  as  factors  of 
a  larger  thought,  —  the  connection  of  different  yarts  of 
speech  as  forming  by  their  relation  one  organic  whole. 
It  is  simply,  therefore,  a  modification  of  that  general 
action  of  intelligence  which  consists  in  association  and 
comparison;  but  as  quite  distinct  from  any  perception 
of  hearing,  it  does  not  require  further  consideration 
here.  The  perception  of  articulate  sounds,  though  a 
more  humble,  is  still  an  essential  part  of  the  faculty  of 
speech ;  and,  humble  though  it  be  in  comparison  with  the 
other,  it  involves  a  somewhat  elaborate  intellectual  effort. 
The  labour  accumulated  in  the  effort  is  disguised  by  the 
easy  rapidity  with  which  it  is  performed  after  long  prac- 
tice ;  but  it  is  partially  revealed  to  any  one  who  sets  about 
educating  his  ear  to  follow  a  foreign  speech.  The  first 
impression  of  a  foreign  tongue  is  an  unintelligible 
jabber;  and  it  is  a  significant  philological  fact  that  in 
many  languages  the  words  used  commonly  to  denote  a 

*  Fifty-Seventh  Annual  Report  of  the  Perkins  Institution,  p.  51. 

*  Mental  Evolution  in  Man,  pp.  136-144. 


180  PSYCHOLOGY 

foreigner,  like  the  Greek  ^dp^apo<;  and  the  Teutonic 
welsch,  seem  to  have  expressed  originally  the  idea  of 
babbling  or  talking  inarticulately.^ 

In  fact,  not  a  few  phenomena  in  language  are  to  be 
explained  by  the  difficulty  of  catching  distinctly  the 
sound  of  unfamiliar  words.  Occasionally,  for  example, 
when  two  words  are  commonly  used  together,  the  final 
consonant  of  the  one  coalesces  with  the  beginning  of  the 
other,  or  the  initial  consonant  of  the  latter  is  attracted  to 
the  termination  of  the  preceding.  Of  the  former  phe- 
nomenon we  have  examples  in  a  newt  for  an  eft,  a  nick- 
name for  an  elcename;  of  the  other,  examples  occur  in 
an  adder  for  a  nadder,  un  orange  for  un  narange  (Span- 
ish naranja  from  the  Arabic  ndranj).  Old  manuscripts, 
at  a  time  when  spelling  was  less  an  object  of  care,  and 
printing  had  not  made  orthography  familiar,  show 
numerous  examples  of  such  confusion.  Another  com- 
mon confusion  occurs  when  a  word  imported  from  a 
foreign  language  resembles  the  sound  of  a  word  in  the 
language  into  which  it  is  introduced.  The  familiar 
word  is  then  made  to  do  duty  for  the  unfamiliar,  even 
though  the  two  may  have  no  connection  in  etymology  or 
meaning.  Of  this  there  is  a  well-known  example  in  the 
vulgar  corruption  of  asparagus  into  sparrow  grass;  and 
numerous  additional  illustrations  may  be  found  in  works 
on  the  science  of  language. 

II.  The  fine  art  of  music  is,  of  course,  built  up  on  the 
musical  sensibility  of  the  ear.  It  implies  a  power  of 
perceiving  both  of  the  musical  properties  of  tone, — their 
pitch  and  their  quality. 

1.    The  perception  of  quality  forms  a  considerable 

*  See  Renan's  De  I'origine  du  langage,  pp.  177-181. 


peeceptio:n"  isi 

element  of  musical  gratification;  and  this  property,  as 
we  have  seen,  depends  on  the  overtones  by  which  a  tone 
is  accompanied.  Simple  tones,  like  those  of  a  tuning- 
fork,  which  are  nearly  or  altogether  unmodified  by  over- 
tones, being  deficient  in  any  pronounced  quality,  are  felt 
to  be  weak,  though  agreeably  soft.  Those  tones,  again, 
in  which  the  lower  overtones,  up  to  about  the  sixth,  are 
most  prominent,  such  as  the  tones  of  a  piano  or  the  open 
pipes  of  an  organ,  produce  a  richer,  grander  clang; 
while  those  in  which  the  higher  overtones  prevail,  such 
as  the  tones  of  most  reed-instruments,  are  harsh  in 
quality,  though  valuable  for  some  musical  effects.  The 
reason  of  this  difference  is,  that  the  higher  overtones 
form  discords,  the  lower  form  concords,  with  the  funda- 
mental tone.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  appreciation 
of  quality  is  akin  to  the  appreciation  of  harmony;  and 
this  is  a  subject  which  will  be  immediately  discussed. 

2.  The  perception  of  relative  pitch  may  apply  either 
to  consecutive  or  to  simultaneous  tones. 

(a)  In  the  case  of  consecutive  tones  the  succeeding 
tone  must  be  such  as  to  follow  without  violent  shock 
upon  the  preceding.  This  agTceable  relation  of  succes- 
sive tones  is  melody.  To  understand  the  nature  of  this 
relation,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  in  a  succession 
of  tones  each  preceding  tone  is  apt  to  linger,  if  not  in 
sense,  certainly  in  memory,  after  the  succeeding  has 
been  struck;  and  therefore  a  marked  discord  between 
the  two  tones  would  be  disagreeable.  This  would  be  the 
case  at  least  with  the  emphatic  notes  of  a  melody ;  and 
it  seems  that  in  those  airs  which  have  been  the  delight  of 
a  people  for  generations  the  emphatic  notes  are  related 
by  simple  and  familiar  concords.    The  nature,  therefore, 


182  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  a  melodious  succession  of  tones,  like  that  of  the 
quality  of  single  tones,  seems  to  point  to  the  same  source 
of  auditory  gratification  from  which  harmony  derives  its 
power. 

(h)  We  are  thus  brought  to  the  consideration  of 
harmony,  —  that  is,  the  musical  or  agreeable  relation 
of  simultaneous  tones.  The  complete  explanation  of 
harmony  involves  three  problems,  only  one  of  which  is 
strictly  psychological. 

(a)  From  physics  harmony  demands  an  account  of 
its  physical  cause.  This  cause  must  be  some  peculiarity 
in  the  combination  of  the  atmospheric  vibrations  pro- 
ducing the  various  tones  that  form  a  harmony.  It  is 
evident  that  different  sound-waves,  having  a  certain 
ratio,  will  coincide  at  regular  intervals,  while  other  com- 
binations admit  of  no  such  coincidence.  It  is  also  evi- 
dent that  coincidences  of  this  kind  can  be  represented  by 
the  ratio  between  the  numbers  of  the  vibrations  that  pro- 
duce the  several  tones  of  a  harmony.  A  few  of  the  more 
simple  ratios  are  very  obvious,  and  have  long  been 
familiar  in  music.  Thus,  when  the  vibrations  of  two 
tones  stand  in  the  ratio  of  1 :  2  —  that  is,  when  two  tones 
at  an  interval  of  an  octave  are  combined  —  each  beat  of 
the  air  producing  the  lower  tone  will  coincide  with  every 
second  beat  producing  the  higher.  A  similar  coinci- 
dence will  also  obviously  result  from  such  simple  ratios 
as  1 :  3,  2  :  3,  1 :  4,  etc.  But  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  go 
into  details,  which  belong  to  acoustics  and  the  theory  of 
music. 

O)  To  physiology  also  a  problem  is  offered  by  har- 
mony, —  the  problem  of  explaining  the  peculiar  organic 
action  that  is  set  up  during  an  harmonious  combination 


PERCEPTION  183 

of  tones.  Here  we  enter  on  a  more  obscure  region,  and 
must  grope  our  way  mainly  by  deduction  from  our  gen- 
eral knowledge  of  the  nature  of  nervous  action.  It  is 
commonly  held  that  the  effect  of  coincident  atmospheric 
vibrations  upon  the  auditory  nerve  is  to  produce  a  con- 
tinuous nerve-current,  while  a  discordant  combination 
excites  a  confused  set  of  intermittent  shocks.  The  pleas- 
antness of  the  one  effect  and  the  unpleasantness  of  the 
other  will  be  considered  in  the  next  Part  of  this  Book, 
when  we  come  to  discuss  the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain. 

(y)  But  the  physical  and  physiological  aspects  of 
harmony  are  noticed  here  mainly  to  avoid  confounding 
them  with  its  psychological  aspect.  To  the  psychologist 
harmony  is  a  phenomenon  in  consciousness.  The  con- 
sciousness here  is  very  largely  emotional,  but  it  contains 
a  cognitional  factor  as  well.  This  factor  appears,  of 
course,  most  distinctly  where  it  is  most  fully  developed, 
—  in  the  mind  of  a  cultivated  musician.  To  such  the 
consciousness  of  harmony  is  a  perception  of  some  sort 
of  coalescence  between  the  combining  tones,  while  in 
discord  there  is  a  consciousness  that  the  tones  will  not 
coalesce.  In  its  intellectual  aspect  discord  may  there- 
fore be  compared  with  the  consciousness  arising  from  the 
presentation  or  representation  of  objects  so  numerous 
and  so  dissimilar  that  the  intellect  is  baffled  in  the  effort 
to  comprehend  them  in  one  cognitive  act;  and  in  its 
emotional  aspect,  as  may  appear  more  clearly  in  the 
sequel,  discord  may  be  classed  with  the  more  general 
feelings  of  distraction  or  confusion. 

To  prevent  misunderstanding,  it  may  be  observed,  in 
passing,  that  of  course  there  are  other  factors  in  music 
besides  the  perception  of  tone.     There  is,  for  example. 


184  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  cognition  of  time,  of  which  it  need  only  be  said  here 
that  the  sense  of  hearing  is  a  pretty  fair  measurer.^ 
There  is  also  the  aesthetic  consciousness  which  is  common 
to  music  with  the  other  fine  arts.  But  the  consciousness 
of  time  and  of  beauty  opens  up  questions  which  can  be 
discussed  only  at  a  later  stage. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  insist  on  the  intellectual 
rank  of  this  sense,  as  it  is  obvious  that  sounds  are  among 
the  most  readily  associated  and  the  most  distinctly 
compared  of  all  sensations.  (1)  Their  associability  — 
that  is,  their  suggestiveness  and  suggestibility  —  is 
strikingly  illustrated  in  the  familiar  use  of  speech ;  for 
the  understanding  of  language  implies  that  sounds  have 
the  power  of  instantaneously  suggesting  thoughts,  as 
speaking  implies  that  thoughts  have  the  power  of  instan- 
taneously suggesting  sounds,  as  well  as  the  muscular 
adjustments  requisite  for  producing  them.  (2)  The 
comparability  of  sounds  is  also  remarkable.  We  have 
already  seen  that,  in  succession,  they  must  reach  the 
number  of  about  forty  in  a  second  before  they  become 
fused  into  one  tone;  and  the  power  of  a  cultivated  ear 
to  discriminate  minute  differences  of  pitch  or  quality  is 
often  marvellous.  The  leader  of  a  large  orchestra  can 
at  once  detect  a  false  note,  and  turn  to  the  offending  in- 
strument, while  a  tuner  must  recognize  any  variation, 
even  to  a  small  fraction  of  a  tone,  from  the  pitch  which 
he  is  seeking  to  restore.^ 

*  Time  in  music  Is  essentially  connected  with  metre  and  rhythm 
In  versification,  and  the  dependence  of  these  on  hearing  is  evinced 
by  the  fact  that,  while  blind  men  have  produced  the  most  delicate 
charms  of  poetical  structure,  the  annals  of  the  deaf  contain  no  great 
poets.  See  Kitto's  The  Lost  Senses,  pp.  140-144,  where  the  author 
gives  an  interesting  account  of  his  own  experience  of  deafness. 

2  Observations  seem  to  show  that  a  practised  ear  can  detect  a  differ- 
ence of  pitch  when  it  depends  merely  on  a  fraction  of  a  vibration. 
Wundt's  Physiologische  Psychologie,  Vol.  I.,  p.  396  (2d  ed.). 


PERCEPTION  185 

With  this  high  intellectual  quality  sounds  have  natu- 
rally entered  very  extensively  into  the  materials  of  poetic 
art.  Their  artistic  value,  however,  is  most  prominently 
exhibited  in  music ;  but  as  the  effect  of  music  is  chiefly, 
if  not  exclusively,  emotional,  this  subject  must  be  re- 
served for  the  next  Part. 


§  5.  —  Perceptions  of  Sight. 

It  is  by  the  agency  of  light,  as  we  have  seen,  that  the 
sense  of  sight  receives  its  impressions;  and  conse- 
quently by  itself  it  can  give  us  no  information  beyond 
what  is  involved  in  the  sensations  of  light,  —  of  pure 
light  or  of  colour.  But  in  mature  life  sight  is  the  sense 
to  which  we  commonly  resort  for  most  of  our  information 
regarding  the  external  world,  especially  for  such  infor- 
mation as  involves  ideas  of  space,  —  the  magnitude, 
figure,  distance,  and  direction  of  bodies.  There  is  there- 
fore a  more  uniform  association  of  these  ideas  with 
visual  sensations  than  with  the  sensations  of  any  other 
sense.  The  association  will  be  shown  to  be  in  some  in- 
stances practically  invariable,  and  therefore  irresistibly 
and  instantaneously  suggestive. 

On  this  account,  while  it  was  comparatively  easy  to 
dissociate  ideas  of  space  from  other  sensations,  it  has 
been  found  more  difficult  to  do  so  in  the  case  of  sight. 
In  fact,  it  is  still  held  by  some  psychologists  that  our 
eyes,  in  virtue  of  their  congenital  functions,  enable  us 
from  the  first  to  project  light  and  colour  into  a  space 
indefinitely  extended,  not  only  in  length  and  breadth, 
but  even  in  depth  and  distance.  This  doctrine  involves 
a  problem  with  regard  to  the  ultimate  analysis  of  the 


186  PSYCHOLOGY 

idea  of  space,  and  that  must  be  reserved  for  a  later  dis- 
cussion. But  the  doctrine  does  not  contend  for  any 
congenital  perception  by  sight  of  definite  spatial  rela- 
tions; and  it  is  important  for  the  student  to  appreciate 
the  evidence  on  which  it  is  now  generally  admitted  that 
our  visual  perceptions  of  those  relations  are  not  endow- 
ments at  birth,  but  gradually  formed  in  experience. 

(A)  We  shall  take  first  the  case  of  'plane  extension. 
This  perception  need  not  detain  us  long.  Take,  for 
illustration,  one  form  of  plane  extension,  the  magnitude 
of  a  body,  —  that  is,  the  extent  which  it  covers  on  the 
field  of  vision.  It  is  a  fact  familiar  even  to  the  child, 
that  to  sight  a  body  appears  smaller  or  larger  in  propor- 
tion to  its  distance,  and  that  therefore  the  illusions  of 
visible  magnitude  have  to  be  corrected  by  reference  to 
other  standards  of  measurement.  Consequently  the 
experience  of  persons  born  blind  and  afterwards  restored 
to  sight  —  an  experience  of  which  a  more  explicit  ac- 
count will  presently  be  given  —  tends  to  show  that  at 
first  they  could  form  no  definite  notion  regarding  the 
magnitude  of  bodies  from  their  visual  appearance. 
Thus  the  patient  of  Dr.  Franz  could  not  understand  the 
significance  of  perspective ;  it  seemed  to  him  unnatural 
that  the  figure  of  a  man  in  the  foreground  of  a  picture 
should  be  larger  than  that  of  a  house  or  a  mountain  in 
the  background.  It  is  a  singular  circumstance,  which 
it  is  difficult  to  explain,  but  which  is  conclusive  on  the 
point  under  consideration,  that  both  Franz's  and  Chesel- 
den's  patients,  after  the  restoration  of  sight,  saw  for  a 
time    objects   magnified,    especially   when   in   motion.-^ 

*  This  fact  recalls  a  well-known  trait  of  the  narrative  in  Mark's 
Gospel,  viii.  24.  The  case  of  Cheselden's  patient  was  complicated  hy 
the  curious  fact  that  one  eye  was  cured  before  the  other,  and  gave  rise 


peiiceptio:n"  ist 

From  the  same  cause  the  variations  in  the  apparent 
size  of  a  body  which  form  such  a  familiar  fact  to  those 
endowed  with  sight  are  unimaginable  by  the  congenitally 
blind;  and  thus  Cheselden's  patient  could  not  under- 
stand how  his  mother  could  have  a  portrait  of  his  father 
in  her  watch-case,  which  seemed  to  him  as  impossible  as 
putting  a  bushel  into  a  pint-measure. 

A  similar  inability  is  experienced  in  regard  to  the 
perception  of  figure,  which  is  merely  the  outline  of  the 
extent  covered  by  a  body  on  the  field  of  vision.  Except 
in  the  case  of  a  few  objects  with  very  simple  outline, 
such  as  a  sphere,  the  visible  figure  of  a  body  varies  with 
the  point  of  view  from  which  it  is  seen.  Consequently 
persons  born  blind,  after  being  restored  to  sight,  are 
unable  for  some  time  to  distinguish  by  their  visible 
appearance  even  objects  that  are  very  different  in  form, 
and  are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  familiar  sensa- 
tions of  touch  and  muscular  sensibility.  Thus  Chesel- 
den  records  that  his  patient  could  not  distinguish  "  any 
one  thing  from  another,  however  different  in  shape  or 
magnitude,"  and  confounded  for  some  time  even  a  cat 
and  a  dog  that  were  in  the  house,  l^unneley's  and 
Franz's  patients  w^ere  both  perplexed  over  simple  figures 
like  a  square  and  a  disk.  The  latter  significantly  re- 
marked that  from  the  sight  of  these  objects  he  could 

to  this  illusion.  When  the  second  eye  was  cured,  objects  appeared  to 
It  larger  than  to  the  first  cured  eye.  though  not  so  large  as  they  had 
appeared  to  this  eye  immediately  after  its  cure.  I  have  discussed  the 
problem  of  this  magnification  in  a  short  monograph  in  the  Transactions 
of  the  Royal  Society  of  Canada  for  1883.  Tbe  phenomenon  probably 
admits  of  the  same  explanation  as  the  differences  of  tangible  magnitude, 
described  above  on  pp.  146-147 ;  that  Is  to  say,  sensible  magnitude 
appears  to  vary  with  the  numl)er  of  terminal  nerve-filaments  on  a  given 
sensitive  area.  It  is  perhaps  for  this  reason  that  an  object  in  line  with 
the  centre  of  the  retina  seems  larger  than  when  it  strilies  the  verge. 


188  PSYCHOLOGY 

form  no  idea  of  their  figures  ^^  until  he  perceived  a  sen- 
sation of  what  he  saw  in  the  points  of  his  fingers,  as  if 
he  really  touched  the  ohjects." 

These  facts  make  it  evident  that  the  visual  perception 
of  any  definite  plane  extension  is  not  an  immediate  and 
original  intuition  of  the  mind  through  the  sense  of  sight, 
but  must  be  explained  as  the  result  of  a  mental  process. 

(B)  The  same  conclusion,  however,  is  still  more 
evident  in  the  case  of  solid  extension,  which  implies  the 
third  dimension  of  space,  —  depth,  or  distance  from  the 
eye. 

I.  The  impossibility  of  seeing  this  dimension  may, 
in  fact,  be  said  to  be  indicated  by  the  very  nature  of 
vision. 

1.  To  use  a  phrase  of  Berkeley's,  distance  is  a  line 
turned  endwise  to  the  eye.  It  is  therefore  only  its  end, 
not  its  length,  that  we  see.  Our  condition  may  be 
illustrated  by  reference  to  a  similar  condition  in  the 
sense  of  touch.  Were  the  end  of  a  wire  brought  into  con- 
tact with  the  hand  of  a  person  blind  or  blindfold,  could 
he  tell  its  length  ?  It  might  be  but  a  short  knitting- 
needle  ;  it  might  be  an  Atlantic  cable ;  the  touch  of  the 
end  would  indicate  no  difference  of  lengl^h.  So  a  ray  of 
light  may  come  from  a  neighbouring  gas-lamp  or  from  a 
star  countless  millions  of  miles  away;  it  is  merely  the 
termination  of  a  ray  that  strikes  the  eye. 

2.  All  parts  of  a  scene,  however  near  some,  however 
remote  others  may  be,  are  presented  on  the  retina  at  the 
same  elevation,  precisely  as  they  would  be  represented 
on  canvas  by  a  painter.  There  is  therefore  nothing  in 
the  structure  or  action  of  the  eyes  to  indicate  various 
distances. 


PEECEPTION"  189 

II.  But  it  may  be  urged  that  such  a  'priori  arguments 
are  unsatisfactory,  unless  they  are  confirmed  by  facts. 
Indeed,  however  extraordinary  it  may  appear  in  the  face 
of  these  arguments,  it  will  be  shown  in  the  sequel  that, 
as  far  as  can  be  judged  from  careful  experiments  on 
new-born  animals  of  some  species,  these  form  accurate 
visual  perceptions  of  distance  and  direction  without  re- 
quiring to  go  through  any  process  of  learning.  But 
whatever  explanations  may  be  given  of  these  observa- 
tions on  other  animals,  the  experience  of  human  life  does 
not  alloAv  us  to  endow  man  with  any  such  instinc- 
tive cognition. 

To  prove  this  the  most  conclusive  evidence  is  that  of 
infants,  though  it  cannot  be  obtained  by  direct  testimony, 
but  must  be  gathered  from  their  actions.  It  has  long 
been  familiar  to  mothers  and  nurses  that  children  re- 
quire some  weeks'  experience  before  they  learn  to  notice 
things.  The  meaningless  gaze  of  an  infant,  even  when 
striking  objects,  like  a  lamp,  are  passed  before  his  eyes, 
has  long  been  regarded  as  showing  that  he  is  incompe- 
tent at  first  to  interpret  his  visual  sensations.  But  for- 
tunately we  are  not  left  to  the  vague  impressions  of 
unmethodical  observers;  for  within  the  last  few  years 
the  mental  development  of  infancy  has  been  made  the 
subject  of  numerous  observations,  conducted  with  the 
minute  accuracy  and  precaution  characteristic  of 
modern  science.  From  a  large  number  of  observations, 
directed  specially  to  the  development  of  visual  percep- 
tion, it  appears  that  the  child  requires  some  weeks,  or 
even  months,  to  master  the  adjustments  of  the  ocular 
muscles  necessary  to  form  a  distinct  retinal  image,  and 
that  it  is  long  after  this  power  has  been  acquired  before 


190  PSYCHOLOGY 

he  can  perceive  by  sight  any  inequality  in  the  distance 
of  objects.^ 

This  result  of  the  observations  made  on  infant  life  is 
happily  confirmed  in  the  most  unequivocal  manner  by 
the  experience  of  persons  in  maturer  years  who  have 
been  born  blind  but  afterwards  restored  to  sight.  A 
number  of  such  cases  have  been  recorded;  but  probably 
the  most  important,  certainly  the  most  accessible  to  an 
English  reader,  are  those  of  which  the  reports  are  pre- 
served in  the  Philosophical  Transactions.'^  A  selection 
of  one  or  two  passages  from  the  first  and  the  last  of  these 
reports  will  sufficiently  indicate  the  conclusion  to  which 
they  point. 

1.  The  earliest  case,  and  the  one  most  frequently 
cited,  is  that  of  a  lad  born  with  a  cataract  of  an  un- 
usually opaque  quality.  He  was  about  fourteen  years 
of  age  when  the  cataract  was  removed  by  Cheselden.  So 
far  from  perceiving  distance  immediately  on  recovering 
sight,   he   described  his   first   visual   impressions   in   a 

*  Die  Seele  des  Kindes,  by  Preyer,  pp.  35-41,  especially  the  summary, 
on  p.  39.  The  psychology  of  child-life  is  now  the  subject  of  an  extensive 
literature.  The  student  will  find  The  Psychology  of  Childhood,  by  Dr. 
Tracy  (Boston,  Heath  &  Co.),  an  useful  handbook,  containing  ample 
references  to  the  literature. 

»  The  cases  are  these:  (1)  Cheselden's,  1728;  (2)  Ware's,  1801,  where 
there  is  reference  to  another  (p.  389)  ;  (3)  and  (4)  Home's  two  cases, 
which  are  of  minor  psychological  interest,  1807;  (5)  Wardrope's,  1826; 
(6)  Franz's,  1841.  Another  case  is  described  in  Nunneley's  Organs  of 
Visions  (1838),  p.  31.  Additional  cases  are  referred  to  by  Helmholtz, 
Phiisiologische  Optik,  Vol.  II.,  p.  178  (2d  ed.)  ;  by  Preyer,  Die  Seele  des 
Kindes,  p.  404.  In  making  psychological  inferences  from  the  data  of 
these  cases,  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that  the  patients  were  but 
Imperfectly  blind,  all  being  able  to  perceive  the  difference  of  light  and 
shade,  and  therefore  the  presence  of  objects  before  the  eyes,  while 
some  could  even  vaguely  distinguish  colours.  It  should  also  be  borne 
In  mind  that  the  patients  had  all  reached  a  somewhat  mature  notion  of 
space  by  the  use  of  the  other  senses,  if  not  also  by  their  imperfect 
vision.  Then,  further,  the  factor  of  instinct  or  heredity  has  to  be 
taken  account  of,  and  that  is  still  in  some  measure  an  unknown  quantity. 


PERCEPTIOlSr  191 

phrase,  which  has  been  often  quoted  in  psychological 
literature  and  which  was  subsequently  used  by  Nun- 
neley's  patient,  to  the  effect  "  that  he  thought  all  objects 
whatever  touched  his  eyes  as  what  he  felt  did  his  skin." 
It  is  in  harmony  with  this,  that  for  a  long  time  pictures 
appeared  to  him  "  only  as  parti-coloured  plains  or  sur- 
faces diversified  with  variety  of  paints."  Not  till  about 
two  months  after  his  cure  did  he  discover  ''  that  they 
represented  solid  bodies."  He  then  expected  that  they 
would  feel  like  such  to  his  hand,  but  was  amazed  to  find 
that  they  felt  perfectly  flat,  "  and  asked  which  was  the 
lying  sense,  feeling  or  seeing." 

2.  The  other  case  to  be  cited  is  one  in  which  superior 
accuracy  seems  to  have  been  observed  in  making  and 
reporting  experiments.  The  patient  was  a  young  man, 
practically  blind  from  birth,  of  good  intelligence,  well 
educated,  and  acquainted  especially  with  geometrical 
figures.  He  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age  at  the  time 
of  his  cure.  The  report  of  the  case  was  in  after-life 
declared  by  the  patient  himself  to  be  substantially 
correct.^  After  relating  a  number  of  interesting  experi- 
ments, the  report  goes  on :  "  When  the  patient  first 
acquired  th^  faculty  of  sight,  all  objects  appeared  to  him 
so  near  that  he  was  sometimes  afraid  of  coming  in  con- 
tact with  them,  though  they  were  in  reality  at  a  great 
distance  from  him.  ...  If  he  wished  to  form  an  esti- 
mate of  the  distance  of  objects  from  his  o^vn  person,  or 
of  two  objects  from  each  other,  without  moving  from  his 
place,  he  examined  the  objects  from  different  points  of 
view  by  turning  his  head  to  the  right  and  to  the  left. 

»  See  a  letter  of  Mr.   Mahalfy's  In   the  Athenceum   for  January  22, 
1881.  where  there  Is  an  interesting  notice  of  the  patient. 


192  PSYCHOLOGY 

Of  perspective  in  pictures  he  had  of  course  no  idea ;  he 
could  distinguish  the  individual  objects  in  a  painting, 
but  could  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  whole  pic- 
ture. .  .  .  All  objects  appeared  to  him  perfectly  flat; 
thus,  although  he  very  well  knew  by  his  touch  that  the 
nose  was  prominent,  and  the  eyes  sunk  deeper  in  the 
head,  he  saw  the  human  face  only  as  a  plane.  .  .  .  Even 
though  he  could  see  both  near  and  remote  objects  very 
well,  he  would  nevertheless  continually  have  recourse  to 
the  use  of  the  sense  of  touch."  ^ 

It  thus  appears  that  the  visual  perception  both  of  solid 
and  of  plane  extension  is  gradually  acquired ;  and  there- 
fore it  is  a  problem  for  the  psychologist  to  explain  the 
process  of  acquisition.  It  will  be  convenient  in  this 
explanation  to  separate  the  two  modes  of  extension. 

i.  —  Extension  in  Depth. 

Here  there  are  two  conditions  of  perception  so  differ- 
ent that  it  is  necessary  to  consider  them  apart.  The  one 
involves  the  use  of  both  eyes ;  the  other  does  not. 

(A)  Binocular  vision  affects  the  perception  of  depth 
onlj^  when  objects  are  at  no  great  distance;  for  then 


E 

the  eyes  must  be  turned  in  to  see  an  object,  and  turned  in 
the  more,  the  nearer  the  object  is.  This  will  be  evident 
from  the  accompanying  diagram,  in  which  E  E  repre- 

*  Philosophical  Transactions  for  1841,  p.  66. 


PEKCEPTION  193 

sent  the  eyes,  and  Oi  an  object  near,  O2  an  object  more 
remote.  Technically  this  fact  is  expressed  by  saying 
that  the  angle  formed  by  the  optic  axes  varies  inversely 
as  the  distance.  Consequently,  since  that  angle  dimin- 
ishes with  increasing  distance,  it  is  obvious  that  when  an 
object  is  very  remote,  the  optic  axes  must  be  nearly 
parallel.  This  produces  two  effects  on  our  sensibility, 
which  are  of  great  significance  in  the  perception  of  depth 
in  space,  —  one  a  muscular  sensation  arising  from  the 
adjustment  of  the  optic  axes,  the  other  a  visual  sensation 
determined  by  the  different  points  of  view  from  which 
the  two  eyes  look  at  a  near  object. 

I.  It  has  been  already  mentioned  that  the  eyes  are 
supplied  with  an  elaborate  muscular  apparatus,  enabling 
them  to  move  in  every  direction.  The  muscular  sensi- 
bility is  of  course  excited  in  the  movement  of  the  eyes, 
as  they  are  turned  inwards  or  outwards  to  see  objects 
near  or  more  remote;  and  the  muscular  sensations  thus 
invariably  produced  in  adjusting  the  eyes  to  different 
distances  become  uniformly  associated  with  the  different 
distances  for  which  they  are  required.  The  result  is, 
that  the  distance  associated  with  any  particular  adjust- 
ment of  the  eyes  is  suggested  irresistibly  and  instan- 
taneously, appearing  in  consciousness  as  if  it  were 
immediately  perceived. 

This  is  no  mere  hypothetical  explanation  of  the  per- 
ception of  distance.  It  can  be  verified  by  the  most 
satisfactory  evidence.  It  is  possible  to  alter  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  optic  axes  at  pleasure  without  altering  the 
real  position  of  objects  within  the  range  of  vision.  We 
can  thus  observe  the  effect  of  this  muscular  adjustment 
without  reference  to  any  effect  that  might  be  produced 

13 


194  PSYCHOLOGY 

by  an  alteration  of  the  distance  of  objects.  If  there  is 
an  object  before  the  eyes,  and  they  are  directed  to  a 
point  in  front  of  it  or  behind  it,  in  the  former  case  it 
appears  to  approach,  in  the  latter  to  recede;  and  the 
suggestion  of  the  appropriate  distance  is  so  irresistible 
that  one  yields  to  it,  even  when  it  is  kno\vn  to  be  an 
illusion. 

II.  The  other  guide  to  the  perception  tf  relative  dis- 
tances is  a  fact  of  visual  sensation,  —  the  dissimilarity 
of  the  retinal  images  of  an  object.  It  must  be  evident, 
from  the  foregoing  diagram,  that  this  dissimilarity,  like 
the  angle  formed  by  the  optic  axes,  varies  inversely  as 
the  distance  of  the  object  seen ;  in  other  words,  the 
difference  between  the  pictures  formed  on  the  two  retinae 
increases  as  the  object  approaches  the  eyes.  Another 
invariable  association  is  thus  formed,  resulting  in  an 
irresistible   and   instantaneous  suggestion. 

Here,  again,  the  process  by  which  the  perception  is 
formed  admits  of  complete  verification  both  by  positive 
and  by  negative  evidence. 

1.  The  appearance  of  depth  in  space  —  of  solidity  — 
may  be  artificially  produced  by  imitating  this  natural 
sign.  The  stereoscopist  takes  two  pictures  of  an  object 
from  the  two  different  points  of  view  from  which  it 
would  naturally  be  seen  by  the  eyes ;  and  w^hen  these  are 
adjusted  so  that  each  eye  sees  only  the  picture  intended 
for  it,  the  object  stands  out  with  all  the  appearance  of 
solid  extension  which  it  possesses  in  reality. 

2.  But  this  explanation  is  more  powerfully  confirmed 
by  the  negative  fact  that  the  appearance  of  solid  exten- 
sion is  not  produced  when  a  near  object  is  seen  with 
both  eyes  if  the  images  on  both  are  identical.     Thus 


PERCEPTIOlSr  195 

two  solid  bodies  placed  near  at  hand  in  such  a  position 
as  to  produce  the  same  picture  on  both  retinae  appear 
plane.  But  a  more  familiar  illustration  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  no  painting,  however  skilful  its  imitation  of 
nature  may  be,  ever  produces  the  stereoscopic  appear- 
ance when  seen  near  at  hand  with  both  eyes.  The 
reason  is,  that  if  the  object  or  scene  represented  were 
really  before  us,  it  would  produce  a  different  image  on 
each  eye,  whereas  the  picture  produces  two  images  that 
are  identical.^ 

An  objection  may  perhaps  in  some  minds  be  urged 
against  this  analysis  on  the  ground  that  we  do  not  see 
the  two  alleged  pictures,  but  merely  one  object.  In 
reply  to  this  it  is  necessary  only  to  point  out  that  we 
do  see,  and  can  at  pleasure  attend  to,  the  two  retinal 
pictures.  This  may  be  made  evident  in  various  ways. 
We  may,  for  example,  by  closing  either  eye,  see  the 
retinal  pictures  separately,  when  we  shall  find  that  the 
one  eye  sees  more  of  the  right,  the  other  more  of  the  left, 
of  an  object.  Or,  again,  we  may  direct  the  two  eyes  to 
different  points  of  an  object,  and  by  this  the  spell  of 
uniform  association  is  broken.  This  may  be  done  by 
holding  an  object  before  you  and  directing  your  eyes 
to  some  point  beyond  it ;  or  if  you  cannot  readily  control 
the  movement  of  the  eyes  by  voluntary  effort,  you  may 
by  the  application  of  a  finger  push  one  eyeball  out  of 
the  direction  to  which  it  would  naturally  adjust  itself. 


*  This  was  discovered,  nearly  four  centuries  ago,  by  Leonardo  da 
Vinci.  See  his  Treatise  on  Painting  (translated  by  Rlgaud),  p.  57. 
But  the  significance  of  the  discovery  remained  unrecognised  till  It  was 
taken  up  and  developed  by  Sir  Charles  Wheatstone  In  a  celebrated  paper 
on  Binocular  Vision  In  the  Philosophical  Transactions  for  1838,  reprinted 
in  his  Sdentiflc  Papers  (1879),  p.  225. 


196  PSYCHOLOGY 

In  either  case  the  two  retinal  pictures  will  be  at  once 
apparent.^ 

But  when  the  natural  adjustment  of  the  eyes  is  not 
interfered  with,  the  presence  of  two  dissimilar  pictures 
on  the  retina  is  invariably  associated  with  the  idea  of 
a  single  solid  body  at  a  certain  distance.  It  is  in- 
finitely more  important  that  the  mind  should  dwell  upon 
the  fact  associated  with  the  two  pictures  than  upon  the 
pictures  themselves,  and  there  is  therefore  nothing  to 
check  the  suggestion  of  that  fact.  The  two  pictures, 
accordingly,  seem  to  coalesce.  In  strict  language,  of 
course,  they  do  not  coalesce  at  all;  they  simply  suggest 
irresistibly  and  instantaneously  the  presence  of  a  single 
object,  and  they  are  not  themselves  noticed  in  the  instan- 
taneousness  of  the  suggestion. 

(B)  The  binocular  vision  of  near  objects,  however, 
is  itself  materially  assisted  by  various  data,  upon  which 
the  mind  is  obliged  to  depend  entirely  when  no  advan- 
tage can  be  derived  from  the  use  of  two  eyes.     In  look- 


^  This  might  he  illustrated  further  by  some  curious  facts  connected 
with  squinting ;  but  these  are  somewhat  complicated,  owing  to  the 
various  causes  to  which  this  maladjustment  of  the  eyes  is  due,  as  well 
as  the  peculiar  habits  of  different  patients.  The  student  is  therefore 
referred  for  details  to  Helmholtz's  Physiologische  Optik,  pp.  699-701. 
Reid's  Inquiry  (Chap.  VI.,  §§  16-19)  is  not  unworthy  of  reading  still. 
Some  years  ago  one  of  my  students  suffered  from  paralysis  of  the  rectus 
superior  and  rectus  internus  muscles  of  the  right  eye.  The  result  was, 
that  with  this  eye  he  saw  objects  a  little  below  and  to  the  right  of  the 
situation  given  by  the  healthy  left  eye  ;  but  he  was  recovering  normal 
vision  slowly  by  the  use  of  proper  lenses  under  the  advice  of  an  oculist. 
The  phenomenon  of  double  vision  may  be  compared  with  the  double 
touch  referred  to  above  (p.  167)  ;  and  a  still  closer  analogue  is  found 
in  the  somewhat  unfamiliar  phenomenon  of  double  hearing,  which  I 
am  led  to  believe  is  due  to  one  ear  being  less  quick  in  its  sensibility  than 
the  other.  By  the  way,  is  it  this  cause  of  double  vision  that  is  noticed 
in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  IV.,  Scene  1? 

"  Methinks  I  see  these  things  with  parted  eye, 
When  everything  seems  double." 


PEECEPTION  197 

ing  at  remote  objects  the  axes  of  the  eyes  are  virtually 
parallel,  and  the  images  on  the  retinse  virtually  iden- 
tical; so  that,  in  perceiving  distance,  we  are  limited 
to  signs  which  do  not  depend  on  the  inclination  of  the 
optic  axes,  —  signs  which  are  indispensable  also  m 
monocular  vision. 

I.  Probably  the  most  important  of  these  signs  is  the 
visible  or  retinal  magnitude,  —  that  is,  the  size  of  the 
retinal  image.  This,  as  even  the  child  knows,  varies 
inversely  as  the  distance;  and  an  uniform  association 
is  thus  formed,  with  the  usual  result  upon  suggestion. 
This  result  may  be  artificially  produced  by  varying  the 
retinal  magnitude  without  really  altering  the  distance 
of  an  object.  Such,  in  fact,  is  the  artifice  adopted  for 
bringing  remote  objects  within  the  range  of  distinct 
vision.  By  applying  the  laws  of  optics  an  instrument 
—  the  telescope  —  is  constructed  which  magnifies  the 
retinal  image  of  remote  objects  and  reduces  in  pro- 
portion their  apparent  distance.  Thus  a  telescope  mag- 
nifying ten  times  gives  you  a  retinal  image  of  the  same 
size  as  if  the  object  were  ten  times  nearer;  and  the 
mind,  instead  of  dwelling  on  the  magnified  image, 
rushes  rather  to  the  fact  of  increased  nearness,  which 
is  commonly  associated  with  such  increase  of  visible 
magnitude. 

The  visible  magnitude  by  itself,  however,  cannot  tell 
the  distance  of  an  object.  It  is  true,  if  an  object  is 
varying  in  apparent  size,  it  may  be  kno\\m  to  be  ap- 
proaching or  receding,  as  when  a  distant  sail  grows 
larger  or  smaller  while  we  gaze  on  it.  But  to  know  the 
specific  distance  of  a  body  from  its  visible  size,  we  must 
have  an  idea  of  its  size  from  some  other  source  —  from 


198  PSYCHOLOGY 

some  other  sense  —  besides  sight.  This  requirement, 
however,  is  no  serious  inconvenience,  as  we  have  formed 
independent  ideas  of  size  with  regard  to  all  the  familiar 
objects  of  daily  experience. 

11.  Another  help  to  the  visual  perception  of  depth 
in  space  is  the  distribution  of  light  and  shade.  On 
a  plane  surface  light  falls  equally ;  it  is  interrupted  and 
falls  unequally  on  a  solid  or  a  number  of  solids  making 
up  a  scene.  The  unequal  distribution  of  light  and 
shade,  therefore,  becomes  suggestive  of  the  solid  exten- 
sion to  which  it  is  due.  The  following  facts  may  be 
noticed  in  illustration :  — 

1.  A  skilful  picture  seen  with  one  eye,  especially 
if  isolated  by  a  tube,  produces  the  stereoscopic  appear- 
ance because  the  conditions  of  natural  vision  are  in  one 
way  thus  fulfilled. 

2.  For  binocular  vision  solidity  is  easily  imitated, 
provided  the  imitation  be  kept  at  a  sufficient  distance 
from  the  eyes.  On  lofty  cornices  or  ceilings  the  appear- 
ance of  bas-relief  may  be  produced,  though  it  should 
never  be  attempted  in  the  imitation  of  pillars,  which 
descend  to  the  floor,  and  can  therefore  be  approached  by 
spectators.  On  this  principle,  also,  are  founded  the 
popular  exhibitions  known  as  dioramas,  in  which  pic- 
tures of  life-size  are  exhibited  on  a  stage  at  a  sufficient 
distance  from  the  spectators  to  fulfil  the  requirements 
of  natural  vision.  It  is  said  that  in  these  exhibitions 
the  illusion  of  reality  is  at  times  so  irresistible  as  to 
have  completely  overcome  some  of  the  spectators.  It 
need  scarcely  be  added  that  artistic  scenery  in  a  theatre 
may,  on  the  same  principle,  add  greatly  to  the  spectac- 
ular effect  of  a  play. 


PERCEPTIO;Nr 


199 


3.  An  interesting  experiment  may  be  added.  The 
visible  difference  between  concavity  and  convexity  con- 
sists in  the  fact  that  in  the  former  the  shadow  is  on  the 
side  from  which  the  light  comes,  in  the  latter  on  the 
opposite  side.  To  determine,  therefore,  whether  an  ob- 
ject is  concave  or  convex,  we  must  know  the  side  from 
which  the  light  comes;  and  if  that  be  unknown,  an 
object  may  appear  either  concave  or  convex,  sometimes 
at  will.  Thus  in  the  accompanying  figure  the  small 
inner  square  will  appear  to  recede  into  the  background 


or  to  be  projected  in  front  of  the  larger  square  according 
to  the  predominant  idea  in  the  mind.  Numerous  other 
figures  will  be  found  capable  of  opposite  interpretations 
in  the  same  way. 

III.  A  third  sign  of  distance  in  space  is  the  com- 
parative sharpness  or  vagueness  of  outline,  and  bril- 
liance or  dulness  of  colour,  with  which  objects  are  seen. 
These  features  in  the  visible  appearance  of  objects 
depend  on  the  interference  of  the  atmosphere  with  the 
rays  of  light ;  and  they  vary  therefore  with  the  state 
of  the  atmosphere.  The  result  is,  that  in  an  unusually 
clear  atmosphere  bodies  are  apt  to  appear  nearer,  in  a 


200  PSYCHOLOGY 

dull  atmosphere  farther  off,  than  they  really  are.  Ac- 
cordingly people  accustomed  to  a  humid  climate  find 
that  in  a  dry  climate  they  are  often  deceived  by  an 
illusory  appearance  of  nearness.  The  same  principle 
explains  why  it  is  that  in  pictures  objects  in  the  back- 
ground must  be  sketched  with  less  definite  outline,  and 
their  colouring  toned  do\\Ti,  else  they  would  simply  ap- 
pear to  be  small  without  being  remote. 

IV.  The  number  of  intervening  objects  also  assists 
in  the  perception  of  distance,  these  being  usually  more 
numerous  in  proportion  to  the  remoteness  of  the  body 
seen.  This  explains  the  difficulty,  especially  for  a 
landsman,  of  estimating  distance  at  sea;  and  a  similar 
difficulty  is  also  experienced  by  an  unpractised  eye  on 
the  prairies  of  the  West  or  the  vast  desert  plains  of  the 
East.^ 

V.  An  additional  assistance  in  this  perception  is 
derived  from  a  somewhat  obscure  muscular  sensation 
connected  with  the  adjustment  of  the  ocular  focus.  The 
distance  of  the  focus  behind  a  lens  varies  inversely  as 
the  distance  of  the  object  in  front.  In  order  to  distinct 
vision  it  is  necessary  that  the  focus  of  the  lens  in  the  eye 
should  fall  exactly  on  the  retina;  and  consequently  it 
must  be  variously  adjusted  in  accordance  w^ith  the  vary- 
ing distances  of  objects.  The  process  of  adjustment 
long  formed  a  subject  of  dispute  among  physiologists; 
but  it  is  now  generally  ascribed  to  an  increase  in  the 

*  With  this  effect  of  intervening  objects  on  our  ideas  of  space  it  is 
Interesting  to  compare  a  corresponding  effect  on  our  ideas  of  time,  pro- 
duced by  its  being  occupied  or  unoccupied.  "  In  general,  a  time  filled 
with  varied  and  interesting  experiences  seems  short  in  passing,  but  long 
as  we  lools  back.  On  tlie  other  hand,  a  tract  of  time  empty  of  experi- 
ences seems  long  in  passing,  but  in  retrospect  short."  James's  Principles 
of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  624. 


peeceptio:n'  201 

convexity  of  the  lens  by  the  pressure  of  the  ciliary 
muscle.  This  would  explain  why  we  feel  a  painful 
strain  when  an  object  is  brought  too  close  to  the  eye. 

VI.  As  a  guide  by  which  we  are  frequently,  if  not 
always,  directed  in  the  perception  of  distance,  may  bo 
mentioned  the  motion  of  objects  across  the  field  of 
vision.  As  most  objects  are  stationary,  their  apparent 
motion  is  generally  due  to  ourselves,  —  to  the  move- 
ment of  the  whole  body,  or  a  turn  of  the  head,  or 
simply  a  sweep  of  the  eye.  In  the  apparent  motion 
thus  produced,  the  nearer  objects  are,  the  more  rapidly 
do  they  flash  across  the  field  of  vision,  while  they  ap- 
proach the  appearance  of  being  stationary  in  proportion 
to  their  remoteness.  Such  a  very  obtrusive  phenomenon 
cannot  be  without  its  eifect  on  our  ordinary  conscious- 
ness; and  especially  in  a  complicated  scene,  like  a 
forest,  it  will  be  found  that  the  idea  of  relative  distances 
obtained  from  a  fixed  gaze  is  extremely  indefinite  when 
compared  with  that  which  is  acquired  by  a  series  of 
glances  that  sweep  the  scene.  This  is  confirmed  by  the 
experience  of  Dr.  Franzes  patient.  "  If,"  it  is  said  in 
a  passage  already  cited,  "  he  wished  to  form  an  estimate 
of  the  distance  of  objects  from  his  person,  or  of  two 
objects  from  each  other,  without  moving  from  his 
place,  he  examined  the  objects  from  different  points 
of  view  by  turning  his  head  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left." 

It  may  be  added  that  in  the  perception  of  distance 
and  solidity  possibly  other  factors  come  into  play,  such 
as  the  general  effect  of  perspective,  and  the  distortion 
in  the  visible  figures  of  objects,  caused  by  moving  to 
different  points  of  view.     Probably,   also,   the  promi- 


202  PSYCHOLOGY 

nence  of  the  several  factors  in  this  perception  is  in 
some  measure  determined  bj  the  varied  training  of 
individuals. 

ii.  —  Plane  Extension, 

The  chief  perceptions  involving  merely  plane  ex- 
tension are  those  of  magnitude  and  situation. 

(A)  The  visual  perception  of  the  magnitude  of  a 
body  is  based  on  its  retinal  magnitude  combined  with 
any  of  the  signs  of  distance.  The  retinal  magnitude, 
as  we  have  seen,  varies  with  distance,  and  cannot  there- 
fore by  itself  signify  real  magnitude.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  in  the  illustration  of  objects  whose  size  is 
unknown  the  artist  adopts  the  expedient  of  placing 
alongside  for  comparison  some  familiar  object,  such  as 
a  human  figure.  Consequently,  in  order  to  judge  of  the 
real  magnitude  of  an  object  by  sight,  its  distance  must 
be  taken  into  consideration  along  with  its  visible  mag- 
nitude. From  this  it  follows  that  any  cause  which 
affects  our  judgment  of  distance  will  affect  equally  our 
judgment  of  size.  If  an  object  appears  nearer  than  it 
really  is,  inasmuch  as  its  real  distance  makes  its  retinal 
image  comparatively  small,  it  cannot  but  appear  to  be 
also  of  comparatively  diminutive  size;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  a  near  object  forms  a  comparatively 
large  image  on  the  retina,  it  must  to  appearance  enlarge 
in  its  dimensions  if  there  is  anything  to  make  it  seem 
farther  off  than  it  is  in  reality. 

Among  the  more  familiar  facts  illustrative  of  this 
may  be  mentioned  the  well-known  illusions  of  magni- 
tude produced  by  the  comparative  clearness  or  obscurity 
of  the  atmosphere.     Objects  seen  through  a  fog  or  even 


PERCEPTION  203 

at  night,  whether  by  starlight  or  moonlight,  always  loom 
in  vaster  proportions  because,  while  they  seem  at  an 
obscure  distance,  they  yet  produce  a  retinal  image  of 
undiminished  magnitude.  This  phenomenon  is  so 
familiar  that  it  is  frequently  alluded  to  in  literature. 
Thus  Tennyson  speaks  of 

"Towers,  that,  larger  than  themselves 
In  their  own  darkness^  thronged  into  the  moon." 

But  more  beautifully  Sir  Bedivere  is  pictured  in  Morte 
d' Arthur:  — 

"  But  the  other  swiftly  strode  from  ridge  to  ridge. 
Clothed  with  his  breath,  and  looking,  as  he  walked, 
Larger  than  human  on  the  frozen  hills.'^ 

Again,  the  presence  or  absence  of  intervening  objects, 
as  it  influences  our  perceptions  of  distance,  modifies  also 
our  judgment  of  magnitude.  Thus  to  a  landsman's  eye 
at  sea  distant  bodies  seem  unusually  small  because,  owing 
to  the  absence  of  intervening  objects,  they  seem  nearer 
than  they  really  are.  Probably  it  is  for  this  reason 
also  that  objects  at  the  foot  of  a  perpendicular  height, 
when  seen  from  the  top,  appear  of  diminished  size. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  has  long  been  observed  that  the 
moon  on  the  horizon  looks  as  if  it  were  of  larger  diam- 
eter than  when  it  has  risen  high  into  the  heavens.  The 
difference,  indeed,  seems  to  depend  in  some  measure  on 
the  state  of  the  atmosphere ;  ^  but  it  disappears  to  a 
large  extent  if  the  horizontal  moon  is  viewed  through 
a  tube  which  cuts  off  intervening  objects. 

The  adjustment  of  the  eyes  to  different  distances  also 

»  Helmholtz's  Phyaiologiache  Optik,  pp.  630-631. 


204  PSYCHOLOGY 

affects  the  visible  magnitude.  Thus,  when  looking  out 
at  a  window  with  the  eyes  adjusted  to  a  remote  point 
on  a  landscape,  if  a  fly  crawl  across  the  pane,  it  is 
apt  to  appear  for  the  moment  as  a  large  black  bird 
flying  across  the  distant  scene  to  which  the  eyes  are 
directed.  The  illusion  is  aided  by  the  fact  that  the  line 
of  slow  near  motion  and  the  line  of  distant  rapid  motion 
will  of  course  subtend  the  same  angle. 

It  is  a  curious  and  significant  circumstance  that  such 
illusions  of  magnitude,  caused  by  the  projection  of 
objects  to  a  remote  point,  affect  even  after-images,  — 
that  is,  the  retinal  impressions  which  persist  after  their 
exciting  cause  has  been  withdrawn.  The  images  even 
undergo  the  distortions  of  shape  that  correspond  to  the 
directions  in  which  they  are  projected.^ 

Another  illusion  may  be  mentioned  here,  as  experi- 
enced by  some  persons  in  railway  travelling.^  While 
a  train  is  moving  at  the  ordinary  rate  of  railway  speed, 
objects  in  the  vicinity  scud  across  the  traveller's  field 
of  vision  with  a  rapidity  altogether  unusual,  and  are 
apt  on  that  account  to  appear  nearer  than  they  are  in 
reality.  But  this  produces  necessarily  also  an  apparent 
diminution  in  size. 

To  complete  the  explanation  of  the  perception  of 
magnitude,  it  ought  to  be  added  that  in  the  case  of 
vaster  objects  the  perception  is  aided  by  the  muscular 
sweep  of  the  eyes  or  of  the  head,^  or  even  by  pacing  the 
ground.     The   latter   alternative,    however,   introduces 

*  James's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  231-232.  This  pas- 
sage describes  a  number  of  other  curious  illusions  of  sight. 

2  Helmholtz's  Phjisxologische  Optik,  p.  635. 

3  Is  it  this  muscular  sweep  that  makes  vertical  stripes  on  a  dress 
give  the  appearance  of  heightened  stature,  while  horizontal  stripes  tend 
to  produce  the  opposite  effect? 


PERCEPTION  205 

us  to  the  artificial  methods  of  measuring  space,  which 
are  distinct  from  the  estimates  of  natural  vision. 

(B)  In  speaking  of  the  relative  situations  of  differ- 
ent objects  on  the  field  of  vision,  we  implicitly  include 
the  relative  situations  of  different  parts  of  the  same 
object;  and  these  relative  situations  constitute  its  vis- 
ible figure.  Situation,  in  this  comprehensive  sense,  is 
perceived  by  data  that  are  partly  visual  and  partly 
muscular. 

I.  The  primary  datum  is  visual;  it  is  the  fact  that 
the  portion  of  the  retina  affected  by  the  light  which  a 
body  radiates  has  an  uniform  correspondence  with  the 
position  of  the  body  in  space.  By  invariable  experi- 
ence we  learn  that  the  position  of  a  body  is  precisely 
opposite  to  the  portion  of  the  retina  on  which  its  light 
falls;  in  other  words,  by  its  essential  structure  the  eye 
forms  an  inverted  image  of  every  object,  of  the  whole 
visible  w^orld.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  puzzling  prob- 
lem to  many  minds  that  with  an  inverted  image  of  ob- 
jects on  the  retina  we  should  still  see  them  erect.  But 
the  puzzle  dissolves  at  once  if  we  bear  in  mind  that 
the  retinal  image  is  not  perceived  by  us,  but  is  merely  a 
sign  suggestive  of  certain  spatial  relations.  The  sug- 
gestion however  is  governed,  as  in  all  other  cases,  by 
the  laws  of  association,  l^ow  in  every-day  experience 
we  associate  an  impression  on  the  right  side  of  the 
retina,  not  with  an  object  to  the  right,  but  with  an 
object  to  the  left;  and  a  similar  association  is  formed 
in  the  case  of  all  other  positions.  Consequently  all 
the  associations  of  ordinhry  life  suggest  positions  for 
objects  the  very  reverse  of  those  parts  of  the  retina  on 
which  visual  sensations  are  felt. 


206  PSYCHOLOGY 

Instead,  therefore,  of  its  being  unintelligible  that 
we  should  see  objects  erect  by  means  of  an  inverted 
retinal  image,  it  would  be  wholly  unnatural  —  it  would 
imply  a  reversal  of  all  the  usual  associations  of  life  — 
to  see  objects  in  any  other  positions  than  those  in  which 
they  appear.  Occasionally,  indeed,  new  associations  are 
formed;  and  it  is  surprising  how  rapidly  perception 
adapts  itself  to  them.  The  microscopist  soon  learns  to 
move  his  object  "  instinctively  "  in  the  right  direction; 
and  in  civilised  life  all  persons  acquire  at  an  early  age 
the  faculty  of  dressing  before  a  mirror,  guided  by  an 
image  in  which  right  and  left  change  their  natural  posi- 
tions. But  that  such  dexterities  are  acquired  by  a  more 
or  less  gradual  process  may  be  perhaps  rendered  more 
evident  to  those  who  have  forgotten  the  process  of  acqui- 
sition by  recalling  the  awkwardness  of  any  unusual 
association,  such  as  the  first  attempt  to  use  a  razor  or 
a  pair  of  scissors  under  the  guidance  of  an  image  in  a 
mirror. 

II.  It  has  been  already  observed  that  the  perception 
of  distance  is  very  materially  assisted  by  the  motion  of 
the  eyes.  An  equal  value  must  be  attached  to  their 
motion  in  the  perception  of  situation.  This  can  be 
tested  in  ordinary  experience  by  comparing  the  vague 
result  of  a  fixed  gaze  on  a  scene  where  the  relative  posi- 
tions of  objects  are  not  otherwise  known  with  the  dis- 
tinct idea  obtained  from  a  series  of  shifting  glances. 
It  thus  appears  that  this  perception  is  aided  by  the 
association  established  in  daily  experience  between  the 
external  position  of  an  object  and  the  muscular  feeling 
of  adjusting  the  eyes  to  look  at  it.  This  statement  finds 
an  interesting  confirmation  in  the  results  that  are  some- 


PERCEPTION  207 

times  observed  to  follow  from  paralysis  of  the  ocular 
muscles.  Cases  are  mentioned  in  which  the  rectus 
externus  —  the  muscle  that  pulls  the  eye  horizontally 
outwards  —  has  been  paralysed  by  a  sudden  injury.  The 
patient,  however,  will  continue  making  ineffectual 
efforts  to  move  the  eye  in  the  direction  in  which  it  was 
wont  to  be  drawn  by  the  paralysed  muscle.  There  is 
therefore  excited  in  consciousness  a  feeling  of  effort, 
though  it  is  followed  by  no  overt  movement;  that  is  to 
say,  the  patient  feels  as  if  he  were  looking  in  a  different 
direction,  w^hile  the  scene  represented  on  the  retina 
remains  unchanged.  By  an  irresistible  suggestion, 
therefore,  the  whole  scene  appears  to  shift  in  the  direc- 
tion which  has  been  uniformly  associated  in  his  mind 
with  the  felt  effort  of  adjusting  the  eye.^ 

It  remains  to  be  added  that  the  direction  in  which 
we  are  looking  depends  on  the  adjustment,  not  only  of 
the  eyes,  but  also  of  the  head,  and  that  therefore  the 
muscular  feeling  connected  with  this  adjustment  forms 
a  factor  in  the  perception  of  situation. 

Connected  with  the  perception  of  the  stationary  situa- 
tion of  objects  is  the  perception  of  their  changing 
situation  or  motion.  The  motion  of  an  object  is  of 
course  indicated,  in  the  first  instance,  by  the  motion  of 
its  image  across  the  retina;  but  as  the  retinal  image 
becomes  less  distinct  the  farther  it  is  removed  from 

*  Wundt'8  Orundziifje  der  Physiologischen  PsychoUgie,  Vol.  II.,  p.  01 
(2d  ed.).  A  similar  illusion  is  experienced  in  other  muscular  tracts. 
Generally,  in  fact,  a  volition  to  move  suggests  a  sensation  of  movement, 
even  when  no  actual  motion  takes  place.  Thus  a  patient  with  an 
anaesthetic  arm,  if  he  is  asked  with  his  eyes  closed  to  move  the  arm 
while  you  are  holding  it  down,  is  surprised,  on  opening  his  eyes,  to  find 
that  it  has  not  changed  its  position.  See  James's  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology, Vol.  II.,  p.  105. 


20S  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  fovea  centralis,  the  eye  acquires  an  habitual  ten- 
dency to  follow  a  moving  body  so  as  to  see  it  distinctly 
at  the  various  stages  of  its  motion.  The  result  is,  that 
the  motion  of  a  body  comes  to  be  associated,  not  only 
with  the  motion  of  its  image  across  the  retina,  but  also 
with  the  motion  of  the  eye  following  the  changes  of 
its  position.  The  mental  effects  of  this  association  are 
somewhat  complicated.  First  of  all,  it  seems  that  in 
common  experience  the  visible  motion  of  objects  and  the 
corresponding  motion  of  the  eyes  are  far  more  uniformly 
due  to  our  own  movements  than  to  movements  in  the 
external  world.  Consequently,  w^hen  an  object  filling  the 
whole  field  of  vision  moves,  it  suggests  irresistibly  that 
we  ourselves  are  in  motion.  This  is  a  familiar  illusion 
w^hen  we  are  seated  in  a  stationary  train,  and  a  train 
on  the  adjoining  track  moves  past.  The  illusion  is 
complete  till  w^e  get  a  glimpse  of  the  motionless  back- 
ground at  the  end  of  the  train  or  in  the  space  between 
two  cars.  Occasionally,  though  more  rarely,  the  oppo- 
site illusion  is  experienced.  The  train  alongside  ap- 
pears to  move  off,  when  it  is  our  own  that  has  started, 
or  the  wharf  that  our  steamer  is  leaving  appears  to  be 
falling  astern.  In  such  cases  the  explanation  seems  to 
be  that  we  have  been  stationary  for  some  time  and  that 
we  have  started  without  the  initial  jerk  that  is  the  com- 
mon sensible  signal  of  motion  begun.  Accordingly  the 
whole  mental  condition  of  being  at  rest  continues  un- 
disturbed, and  the  apparent  motion  of  objects  external 
to  our  train  or  steamer  is  naturally  interpreted  as  their 
real  motion. 

Similar  illusions  are  experienced  with  rotatory  move- 
ments.    Take  a  piece  of  paper  with   a  picture  of  a 


PERCEPTION"  209 

wheel  or  ring  on  it.  Move  the  paper  gently  in  a  circu- 
lar line  before  the  eyes,  and  after  two  or  three  revolu- 
tions the  wheel  or  ring  will  appear  to  start  a  rotatory 
movement  of  its  own  with  the  paper  as  a  stationary 
background. 

The  part  played  by  the  muscular  movements  of  the 
eye  in  such  phenomena  is  illustrated  by  another  illusion. 
If,  when  we  are  w^atching  the  movement  of  a  wheel,  it 
suddenly  comes  to  a  stop,  there  is  apt  to  bo  a  momen- 
tary illusion  of  movement  in  the  opposite  direction.  It 
seems  that  the  eye,  following  the  motion  of  the  wheel, 
continues  its  own  motion  for  an  appreciable  space  of 
time  after  the  motion  of  the  wheel  has  ceased ;  and  thus 
the  image  of  the  wheel  passes  across  the  retina  in  the 
opposite  direction,  so  that  it  appears  for  the  moment  to 
be  revolving  the  other  way. 

The  continued  sight  of  revolving  bodies  in  the  daily 
environment  may  thus  create,  especially  in  a  young  and 
tender  organism,  a  chronic  tendency  to  rotatory  move- 
ment in  the  eyes,  probably  with  corresponding  morbid 
conditions  in  brain  and  nerve.  There  may  thus  result 
a  tendency  to  fits  of  vertigo,  making  the  whole  world 
appear  to  be  continually  spinning  round.  That  may 
therefore  be  no  poetic  hyperbole,  but  a  genuine  psychi- 
cal experience,  which  Mrs.  BrowTiing  has  embodied  in 
The  Cry  of  the  Children:  — 

"  For,  all  day,  the  wheels  are  droning,  turning, 
Their  wind  comes  in  our  faces,  — 
Till  our  hearts  turn,  —  our  head,  with  pulses  burning, 

And  the  walls  turn  in  their  places. 
Turns  the  sky  in  the  high  window  blank  and  reeling. 

Turns  the  long  light  tliat  drops  adown  the  wall, 
Turn  the  black  flics  that  crawl  along  the  ceiling, 
All  are  turning,  all  the  day,  and  we  with  all." 
14 


210  PSYCHOLOGY 

Concluding  Observations.  There  are  a  few  points 
connected  with  visual  perception  which  could  not  so 
conveniently  be  introduced  into  the  above  exposition 
and  may  therefore  be  now  noticed  at  the  close. 

I.  The  perceptions  whose  acquisition  has  just  been 
explained  seem  to  be  congenital  in  some  of  the  lower 
animals;  and  this  fact  has  sometimes  appeared  to  mili- 
tate against  the  theory  that  they  are  not  possessed  at 
birth,  but  must  be  gradually  formed,  by  man.  Attempts 
have  been  made  to  question  the  correctness  of  the  usual 
interpretation  put  upon  the  actions  of  those  young 
animals  that  seem  to  direct  their  movements  by  sight 
almost  from  the  very  moment  of  birth.  With  regard  to 
some  of  these  animals  certainly  observations  have  yet  to 
be  made  with  sufficient  care  to  show  that  their  first 
movements  might  not  be  directed  with  equal  accuracy  by 
extraordinary  acuteness  of  smell  and  muscular  feeling. 
But  the  experiments  of  Mr.  Douglas  A.  Spalding  have 
apparently  placed  it  beyond  doubt  that  the  chicks  of  the 
domestic  hen,  as  well  as  the  young  of  some  other  birds, 
are  able  to  perceive  by  sight  all  dimensions  of  space  as 
soon  as  they  are  fairly  out  of  the  shell. -^  The  explana- 
tion of  this  congenital  perception  belongs  to  Animal 
Psychology.  It  forms,  in  fact,  a  part  of  the  general 
problem  of  instinct.  But  even  if  the  perception  is 
admitted  to  be  instinctive  in  some  of  the  lower  animals, 
the  admission  would  simply  accord  with  the  obvious 

^  These  experiments  are  related  by  Mr.  Spalding  with  interesting 
detail  In  an  article  on  Instinct  in  Macmillan's  Magazine  for  February, 
1873.  Professor  Lloyd  Morgan  (in  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  August, 
1893,  and  subsequently  in  his  Anijual  Behaviour)  records  some  further 
experiments  on  chickens ;  but  though  they  prove  the  necessity  of  ex- 
perience for  some  of  the  young  bird's  visual  perceptions,  they  do  not 
invalidate  the  findings  of  Mr.  Spalding  with  regard  to  its  iastinctive 
perception   of  distance  and   direction. 


PERCEPTION  211 

fact  that  several  powers  which  are  instincts  in  other 
animals  must  be  slowly  acquired  by  man. 

II.  It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  extent  or  the 
value  of  those  ideas  which  we  receive  through  the  sense 
of  sight,  and  difficult  therefore  to  describe  the  mental 
condition  of  a  man  born  blind.  To  interrogate  such  a 
person  philosophically  would  throw  light  on  many  an 
obscure  problem,  and  has  therefore  been  justly  described 
by  Diderot  as  "  an  occupation  worthy  of  the  united 
talents  of  IN^ewton  and  Descartes,  of  Locke  and  Leib- 
nitz." ^  The  chief  difficulty  of  such  an  investigation  is 
the  fact  that  the  blind  must  use  the  language  of  other 
men.  Xow,  as  a  very  large  proportion  of  our  ideas  are 
derived  from  the  sense  of  sight,  a  very  large  proportion 
also  of  the  words  that  we  employ  can  find  their  full 
interpretation  only  in  visual  ideas.  Accordingly  we  are 
apt  to  be  misled  by  the  blind  man's  employment  of  our 
language,  and  to  take  for  granted  that  he  attaches  to  that 
language  the  same  meaning  as  ourselves.  But  notwith- 
standing this  difficulty,  the  following  facts  are  obvious. 

1.  The  fundamental  deficiency  of  the  congenitally 
blind  consists,  of  course,  in  their  inability  to  feel,  and 
therefore  to  imaginey  light  or  colour.  At  times,  indeed, 
they  hit  upon  happy  expressions  to  describe  differences 
of  colour  in  certain  aspects.  Such  is  the  well-kno^vn 
description  of  red  as  being  "  like  the  sound  of  a  trum- 
pet," ascribed  to  a  blind  man  by  Locke.  So  also  the 
blind  Dr.  Moyes  remarked  that  red  gave  him  a  disagree- 
able sensation  like  the  touch  of  a  saw,  and  that  the  other 
colours   decreased   in  harshness  towards  green,   which 

^  Lettre  sur  les  Avcuglcs  in  his  CEuvres  Computes,  Vol.  I.,  p.  314 
(Paris,  1875). 


212  PSYCHOLOGY 

gave  him  an  idea  like  that  of  passing  the  hand  over  a 
polished  surface.^  It  is  obviously  natural  that  the  blind 
should  form  their  conception  of  colours  either  from 
sounds  or  from  touches  or  from  both,  as  these  are  the 
most  important  sensations  left  to  them.  But  all  such 
comparisons  bring  out  only  the  more  clearly  the  insu- 
perable defect  in  the  physical  sensibility  of  the  blind. 
They  point  to  the  analogy  betv^een  colours  and  other 
sensations  in  certain  general  characteristics  of  all  feel- 
ing; they  do  not  express  the  special  characteristic  of 
colour:  they  describe  wherein  the  sensations  of  colour 
resemble,  not  wherein  they  differ  from,  other  sensations. 
2.  As  a  result  of  this  defective  sensibility  there  is  a 
corresponding  defect  in  the  power  of  perception.  Body, 
as  body,  —  as  extended,  —  the  blind  perceive  only 
through  the  tactile  and  muscular  senses;  and  though 
they  can  recognise  the  existence  of  objects  at  a  distance 
from  the  organism  by  an  instrument  in  the  hand,  by 
sound,  or  even  by  smell,  yet  they  are  unable  to  compre- 
hend an  agent  which  can  bring  within  the  ken  of  sense 
bodies  that  are  millions  of  miles  away,  so  that  their 


*  See  above,  pp.  151-152.  A  number  of  similar  comparisons  will  be 
found  in  Maudsley's  Physiology  of  the  Mind,  p.  93,  note,  and  in  Jas- 
trow's  Fact  and  Fable  in  Psychology,  pp.  306-307.  These  cottparisons 
must  not  be  confounded  with  the  curious  phenomenon  of  double  sensi- 
bility, in  which  persons  with  all  their  senses  find  a  specific  sensation 
of  one  sense  uniformly  accompanied  with  a  specific  sensation  of  another. 
Most  commonly  it  is  a  tone  that  has  its  concomitant  colour,  and  the 
phenomenon  has  therefore  been  sometimes  named  chromcesthesia  or 
coloured  audition.  A  remarkable  case  of  this  kind  —  that  of  the 
brothers  Nussbaumer  —  is  described  in  Lewes's  Problems  of  Life  and 
Mind,  Vol.  IV.,  pp.  280-287,  See  also  Galton's  Inquiries  into  Human 
Faculty,  pp.  145-154,  where  some  curious  examples  are  given  of  "  colour- 
associations."  This  peculiar  kind  of  association,  however,  is  not  limited 
to  these  two  senses.  See  Jodl's  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologic,  pp.  188-191, 
where  the  literature  of  the  subject  is  given.  The  phenomenon  is  not 
yet  satisfactorily  explained. 


PERCEPTION  213 

mechanical  and  other  properties  may  be  made  the  object 
of  scientific  investigation.  This  inability  is  strikingly 
indicated  by  several  attempts,  made  by  blind  men,  to 
describe  visual  perception.  Thus  M.  du  Puiseaiix,  the 
blind  son  of  a  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  the  University 
of  Paris,  is  said  to  have  remarked :  "  The  eye  is  an 
organ  on  which  the  air  ^  should  have  the  same  effect  as 
my  stick  on  my  hand,"  —  that  is,  a  kind  of  touch. 
When  asked  if  he  would  not  like  to  be  restored  to  sight, 
it  is  not  therefore  surprising  that  he  should  have  re- 
plied: '^  If  it  were  not  for  curiosity,  I  would  rather 
have  long  arms:  it  seems  to  me  that  my  hands  would 
teach  me  better  what  is  passing  in  the  moon  than  your 
eyes  or  telescopes;  and,  besides,  the  eyes  cease  to  see 
sooner  than  the  hands  to  touch.  It  would  therefore  be 
as  well  to  improve  the  organ  I  have  as  to  give  me  the  one 
I  want.''  2 

We  have  seen  that  an  extension  of  touch  is  obtained 
by  the  use  of  instruments;  and  this  distant  contact 
seems  to  have  afforded  to  the  blind  poet.  Dr.  Blacklock, 
an  approximate  conception  of  vision,  though  still  only  a 
conception  of  touch.  He  states  that,  when  awake,  he 
could  distinguish  men  only  in  three  ways,  viz.,  by  their 
voices,  by  feeling  their  heads  and  shoulders,  by  listen- 
ing to  the  sound  and  manner  of  their  breathing.  But 
he  adds  that  in  dreams  he  had  a  distinct  impression 
of  objects  in  a  different  way,  —  in  the  way  of  a  dis- 

^  Fie  has  no  conception  of  lipht,  merely  of  a  substance  which  can 
be  felt  by  contact.  It  may  be  interesting  to  compare  the  case  of 
Massieu,  who  was  stone-deaf  from  birth,  and  who  in  trying  to  conceive 
sound  imagined  that  persons  hearing  "  sair  with  their  ears "  when 
they  could  not  see  with  their  eyes,  as,  for  example,  by  night.  Kitto's 
The  Lost  Senses,  p.   loS   (Amer.  ed.). 

*  Quarterly  Review  for  October,  1865. 


214  PSYCHOLOGY 

tant  contact  effected  by  threads  between  himself  and 
them.* 

As  ilhistrating  further  the  mental  condition  of  the 
congenitally  blind  man,  it  may  be  added  that  even  after 
recovering  sight  he  takes  some  time  to  acquire  the 
power  of  imagining  visual  perceptions,  —  that  is,  a  visi- 
ble space  that  is  not  actually  present.  Thus  it  is  related 
of  Cheselden's  patient  that  at  first  he  was  ^^  never  able  to 
imagine  any  lines  beyond  the  bounds  he  saw;  the  room 
he  was  in  he  said  he  knew  to  be  but  part  of  the  house, 
yet  he  could  not  conceive  that  the  whole  house  could 
look  bigger." 

§  6. — Muscular  Perceptions, 

There  is  only  one  of  the  general  senses  that  is  of  very 
great  value  in  furnishing  materials  of  cognition,  and 
that  is  the  muscular  sense.  Accordingly,  in  quitting  the 
perceptions  of  the  special  senses,  we  shall  confine  our 
attention  to  muscular  perceptions. 

The  muscular  sensations  from  which  most  perceptions 
are  derived  are  those  of  a  dead  strain  or  of  slow  move- 
ment. The  sensations  of  rapid  movement  are  generally 
too  exciting  to  admit  of  being  calmly  examined  and  used 
as  materials  of  knowledge ;  while,  even  in  the  case  of  a 
dead  strain,  the  strain  must  be  moderate,  as  an  excessive 
strain  is  apt  to  deaden  the  sensibility. 

I.  The  first  and  fundamental  perception  of  this  sense 
is  that  of  the  degree  of  muscular  effort  put  forth.  The 
sensations  of  muscular  effort  may  of  course  be  associ- 
ated and  compared  like  others;  and  the  readiness  of 
suggestion  as  well   as  the  acuteness  of  discrimination 

1  Abercrombie's  Intellectual  Powers,  p.  220. 


PEIICEPTIO:^"  215 

thus  originated  is  marvellous.  It  is  upon  sucli  percep- 
tions that  general  dexterity  as  well  as  gracefulness  of 
movement  depends.  Some  of  the  muscular  perceptions 
have  been  already  noticed  in  connection  with  the  per- 
ceptions of  touch,  where  it  was  shown  that  the  latter 
would  be  comparatively  insignificant  without  the  aid  of 
the  former.  Here,  therefore,  it  may  be  sufficient  to 
notice  an  example  or  two  of  special  nmscular  acuteness. 
It  was  shown,  in  the  preceding  section,  how  the  ocular 
muscles  are  called  into  play  in  judging  the  relative  dis- 
tances of  visible  objects;  and  it  must  be  obvious  that 
the  muscular  adjustments  required  for  the  minute  dif- 
ferences of  distance  which  we  can  easily  appreciate  can 
diiFer  only  in  a  very  slight  degree.  This  case  illustrates 
the  suggestiveness  of  muscular  sensations;  the  next 
furnishes  an  example  of  their  suggestibility.  The  tones 
of  the  voice  are  produced  by  means  of  the  laryngeal 
muscles,  aided,  in  speaking  and  singing  at  least,  by  the 
complicated  muscular  apparatus  about  the  mouth.  When 
we  reflect  on  the  manifold  modulations  of  the  voice, 
even  in  ordinary  talk,  w^hen  we  consider  that  a  good 
singer  can  easily  produce  notes  that  differ  only  by  a  frac- 
tion of  a  tone,  we  can  scarcely  avoid  wonder  at  the 
refinement  of  muscular  perception  which  renders  pos- 
sible this  delicacy  of  adjustment. 

II.  The  counterpart  of  this  perception  is  that  of  the 
resistance  which  the  muscular  effort  overcomes.  This 
perception  implies  the  association  of  muscular  sensa- 
tions with  other  sensations,  visual  and  tactual.  The 
muscular  effort  which  we  are  conscious  of  putting  forth 
becomes  thus  connected  with  the  world  of  sights  and 
touches,  and  that  world  accordingly  shapes  itself  in  our 


216  PSYCHOLOGY 

consciousness  into  a  world  of  objects  that  are  not  only 
visible  and  tangible,  but  offer  resistance  to  our  efforts. 
It  is  only  by  this  process  that  we  form  the  complete 
notion  of  body  or  matter.  Other  sensations,  indeed, 
discover  that  which  is  independent  of  my  will;  for  I 
cannot  choose  but  feel  them  when  exposed  to  the  condi- 
tions of  their  production.  But  this  consciousness  of  a 
thing  which  is  diff'erent  from  me,  and  does  not  depend 
for  its  existence  on  my  volition,  becomes  obviously 
most  distinct  with  the  consciousness  of  a  resistance  pre- 
sented to  my  voluntary  exertion.  Of  course  we  do  not 
require  to  obtain  first  the  incomplete  notion  of  the  mate- 
rial world,  furnished  by  other  senses,  before  we  learn  by 
muscular  play  that  it  is  a  world  of  resisting  bodies ;  for 
the  muscular  activity  is  incessant  from  the  moment  of 
birth.  It  is  from  the  sensibility  excited  by  this  inces- 
sant activity  of  muscle  that  we  obtain  the  materials  to 
build  up  our  conception  of  the  world  as  a  vast  system 
of  bodies  endowed  with  force  to  resist  ourselves. 

It  is  in  its  mechanical  aspects  that  matter  is  thus 
made  known,  these  aspects  being  so  many  forms  of  force 
resisting  our  muscular  efforts.  It  is  the  function  of 
physical  science  to  investigate  these  forms  of  force,  with 
the  view  of  arranging  them  into  a  systematic  classi- 
fication, and  ascertaining  precisely  the  laws  in  accord- 
ance with  which  they  act. 


CHAPTER   11. 

GENEKALISATIOlSr. 

THIS  form  of  cognition  contrasts  with  perception 
as  the  knowledge  of  classes  with  that  of  indi- 
viduals. It  has  been  usually  analysed  into  three  stages : 
Abstraction,  Generalisation  proper,  or  Classification, 
and  Denomination.  There  is  a  convenience  in  adapting 
our  exposition  to  this  analysis. 

§  1.  —  Abstraction. 

The  nature  of  abstraction  may  be  gathered  from  the 
following  facts:  —  that  it  is  (1)  identical  with  atten- 
tion; (2)  not  purely  intellectual,  but  also  emotional  or 
volitional;  (3)  intellectually  an  act  of  discrimination 
or  analysis;  (4)  though  artificial  in  one  sense,  per- 
fectly natural  in  another. 

I.  Abstraction  is  identical  with  attention.  The  two 
terms  are  in  fact  but  different  names  for  the  same  activ- 
ity of  mind,  looked  at  from  different  points  of  view. 
As  abstraction,  by  its  etymology,  implies  that  the  mind 
is  in  some  sense  withdrawn,  so  attention  implies  that 
the  mind  is  under  a  strain  or  tension  of  some  sort.  And 
it  is  the  strain  in  one  direction  that  causes  the  with- 
drawal in  another.  For,  as  human  consciousness  is 
limited  in  its  power,  it  cannot  be  concentrated  upon  one 
phenomenon  without  being  to  that  extent  withdrawn 


218  PSYCHOLOGY 

from  others.  The  act  of  abstraction  is  therefore  one 
form  of  the  general  limitation  of  human  energy.  The 
force  which  is  organised  in  the  individual  is  essentially 
limited,  and  when  it  is  largely  absorbed  in  one  form  of 
activity,  cannot  be  at  disposal  for  others. 

*'  Pluribus  intentus  minor  est  ad  singula  sensus." 

Thus,  in  general,  there  is  a  competition,  or  even 
conflict,  between  the  two  forms  of  activity  which  are 
distinguished  as  mental  and  bodily.  An  excessive  ex- 
penditure of  human  energy  in  intellectual  toil,  and  still 
more  in  emotional  excitement,  is  apt  to  interrupt  vital 
actions,  like  digestion,  at  the  time,  and,  if  prolonged,  to 
issue  in  chronic  dyspepsia.  In  like  manner  there  is  a 
constant  competition  or  conflict  between  different  men- 
tal activities.  In  elementary  stages  of  evolution  the 
struggle  is  between  sensible  impressions,  and  then  it 
takes  the  form  of  that  muscular  manipulation  of  the  sen- 
tient organs  by  which,  as  we  have  seen,  their  sensibility 
is  greatly  enhanced.  Probably  also  in  directing  atten- 
tion to  any  representation  of  sensible  impressions  a  sim- 
ilar, though  fainter,  muscular  action  is  called  into  play. 
Even  in  the  latest  and  highest  evolutions  of  abstract 
thinking  a  large  measure  of  muscular  control  is  implied. 
This  is  due  partly  to  the  direct  and  purposive  inhibi- 
tion of  distracting  bodily  movements,  partly  to  indirect 
and  automatic  inhibition  arising  from  the  absorption  of 
energy  in  brain-work.^ 

This  inhibitory  effect  of  attention  explains  many 
familiar  phenomena  in  life.     Thus,  for  example,  a  man 

*  This  inhibitory  action  is  described,  on  its  physiological  side,  by 
Perrler  in  his  Functions  of  the  Brain,  pp.  70-71,  460-468  (2d  ed.).  See 
also  Ribot's  Psychologie  de  I'Attention,  pp.  66-70. 


GE:N'EK  ALIS  ATIOIT  2 1 9 

frequently  finds  himself  arrested  in  the  midst  of  any 
act  in  which  he  is  engaged;    he  may  be  brought  to  a 
stand-still  while  walking  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare, 
and  remain  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  oblivious  of 
the  stream  of  passengers  jostling  against  him  in  his 
awkward  position.     Even  a  large  assembly  of  men,  when 
their  attention   is  rapt  by  an  entrancing  outburst  of 
oratory,  are  at  times  checked  in  such  an  essential  act  of 
vitality  as  breathing,  as  may  be  evinced  by  the  long  sigh 
that  is  dra^vn  at  any  pause.    It  is  common,  therefore,  to 
describe  people  in  such  cases  as  listening  with  breath- 
less attention  or  interest.     It  will  be  seen,  moreover, 
that  the  state  which  is  popularly  described  as  absent- 
mindedness    is    essentially    identical    with    abstraction. 
For,  not  only  in  the  brilliant  achievements  of  scientific 
devotion,  but  even  in  the  more  trivial  preoccupations 
of  the  mind,  a  person  in  this  state  is  absent  mentally, — 
that   is,   has   his   mind   abstracted   from   the   concrete 
actualities  around  his  body;  but  this  arises  from  the 
fact  that  he  is  present  mentally  —  that  his  attention 
is  engrossed  —  with  something  else. 

II.  Ahstraction  or  attention  is  not  a  purely  intel- 
lectual state;  it  takes  us  into  the  other  regions  of  mental 
life,  —  emotion  and  Avill.  For  the  student  of  psychol- 
ogy must  keep  constantly  in  view  the  fact  that  although 
by  necessity  of  scientific  abstraction  we  discriminate 
cognition  and  feeling  and  will,  yet  such  abstraction  does 
not  represent  the  concrete  facts  of  mental  life.  Now 
attention  implies  that  the  consciousness  is  strained  in  a 
particular  direction;  and  this  strain  is  due  either  to 
the  impulse  of  some  natural  feeling  or  to  an  effort  of 
wiU.     This  originates  two  tyjDCs  of  attention,  which  are 


220  PSYCHOLOGY 

distinguished  as  passive  or  involuntary  and  active  or 
voluntary. 

1.  The  former  is  predominant,  if  not  exclusive, 
in  child-life  as  well  as  among  the  lower  animals.  It 
may  be  'excited  either  by  sensation  or  by  emotion.  Mere 
intensity  in  a  feeling  provokes  the  reaction  of  conscious 
energy,  which  we  call  attention.  Even  in  early  child- 
hood attention  is  at  once  attracted  by  a  loud  sound  or  a 
brilliant  light.  But  when  the  feeling  is  characterised 
by  an  intensity  of  pleasure  or  pain,  its  power  of  stim- 
ulating mental  concentration  is  correspondingly  en- 
hanced. This  is  indicated  in  the  very  terms  we  employ 
in  speaking  of  anything  that  is  peculiarly  pleasant. 
It  is  described  as  attractive,  winning,  captivating,  fas- 
cinating, bewitching,  enchanting,  and  by  many  other 
terms  of  a  similar  purport.  But  pain  also  wields  a 
masterful  influence  over  thought.  The  power  of  a  tor- 
turing sensation  to  draw  attention  to  itself  makes  us 
only  too  familiar  with  its  success  in  distracting  atten- 
tion from  anything  else.  It  is  also  a  familiar  fact  that 
shocking  sights  as  well  as  shocking  ideas  and  narratives 
exercise  at  times  a  horrible  fascination. 

Among  the  emotions  fear  has  long  been  proverbial 
for  its  tyranny  over  its  victims.  Its  despotic  power  in 
riveting  attention  upon  its  cause  is  often  indicated  by 
an  inhibition  of  activity  so  complete  as  to  become  actual 
paralysis.  Among  the  lower  animals  its  freaks  are  still 
somewhat  inexplicable.-^     But  in  human  life  its  j)ara- 

^  The  phenomenon  of  "  shamming  death  "  seems,  in  some  cases  at 
least,  to  be  an  inhibitory  effect  of  terror,  rather  than  an  ingenious 
device  to  deceive  an  enemy  from  whom  there  is  no  escape.  See  Wesley 
Mills's  Nature  and  Development  of  Animal  Intelligence,  pp.  65-72.  May 
not  the  alleged  power  of  a  snake  to  charm  birds  so  that  they  drop 
helplessly  into  its  jaws  be  likewise  due  to  the  paralysis  of  terror? 
Perhaps  the  superstition  of  an  evil  eye  may  find  a  natural  basis  la 


GENERALISATION  221 

Ijsing  effects  have  long  been  well  known.  The  most 
familiar  of  these  is  probably  the  disturbance  of  the 
heart's  action,  which  impedes  the  circulation  of  the 
blood,  leaving  a  deathlike,  colourless  hue  on  the  face. 
But  most  of  the  organs  are  apt  to  show  a  relaxation  of 
force  in  nerve  and  muscle,  so  that  the  victim  appears 

"  distilled 
Almost  to  a  jelly  by  the  act  of  fear."  ^ 

This  effect  at  times  so  completely  suppresses  all  intelli- 
gent personality,  as  if  subjecting  it  to  another's  sway, 
that  the  ancient  Pagan  not  unnaturally  interpreted  the 
mental  state  as  a  possession  of  the  mind  by  the  god 
Pan ;  and  therefore  we  still  speak  of  it  as  a  panic.  The 
panic-stricken  mortal  finds  all  his  mental  energy  so 
completely  inhibited  that  he  cannot  even  take  the  steps 
necessary  to  escape  from  the  object  of  his  fear.  This 
paralysing  effect  is  sometimes  exhibited  in  a  peculiar 
form  by  the  young  speaker  or  actor  making  his  first 
appearance  before  an  audience,  and  is  consequently 
kno^vn  as  "  stage-fright." 

But  the  abstraction  of  energy  by  the  absorbing  power 
of  a  strong  feeling  affects  not  merely  the  motor-nerves; 
it  often  numbs  the  sensibility,  and  a  more  or  less  com- 
plete anaesthesia  is  the  result.  Poor  King  Lear,  when 
entreated  to  take  shelter  from  that  awful  night's  storm 
which  he  had  been  driven  to  face  by  the  ingratitude  of 
his  daughters,  might  well  reply,  — 

"  The  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else 
Save  what  beats  there." 

similar  effects.     An  eye  of  peculiarly  raallpm  or  ferocious  look  mlffht 
very  easily  exert  a  paralysiriR  tyranny  over  weak  nerves,  and  thus  give 
rise  to  veritably  morbid  conditions. 
»  Hamlet,  Act  I.,  Scene  2. 


222  PSYCHOLOGY 

In  the  excitement  of  a  battle-charge  dangerous,  even 
fatal,  wounds  are  said  to  be  sometimes  unfelt  for  a 
while.  Indeed,  numerous  expressions  in  common  use 
point  to  the  familiarity  of  the  fact  that  a  powerful 
emotion  may  take  away  one's  breath,  may  strike  a  man 
dumb,  or  inhibit  his  energy  in  a  variety  of  other  ways.^ 

A  more  pleasing  illustration  of  the  same  effect  forms 
a  familiar  experience  in  the  relief  that  a  patient  often 
obtains  from  morbid  gloom  by  the  visit  of  a  cheerful 
friend  who  draws  attention  away  from  a  disease  by 
interesting  talk  upon  other  themes.  Perhaps,  as  we 
may  find  later  on,  the  anaesthesia  displayed  in  the  hyp- 
notic state  is  but  the  total  abstraction  of  the  patient's 
mind  by  being  completely  absorbed  in  some  dominant 
idea. 

But  for  the  culture  of  mind  the  most  valuable  ser- 
vice of  involuntary  attention  is  that  which  is  rendered 
by  the  interest  felt  in  subjects  of  study. ^  Every 
teacher  knows  how  hopeless  his  task  is  if  he  cannot  evoke 
such  an  interest  in  the  minds  of  his  pupils,  how  easy  it 
becomes  as  soon  as  that  interest  is  evoked.  That  is  a 
sound  advice  which  Tranio  gives  to  his  master :  — 

"No  profit  grows  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'en: 
In  brief,  Sir,  study  what  you  most  affect.'"  ^ 

Interest  has  been  already  described  as  the  sum  of  the 
feelings  which  a  subject  excites.  Sometimes  it  may  be  a 
painful  interest  that  is  felt.  But  for  the  best  culture, 
whether  of  ourselves  or  of  others,  the  interest  ought  to 

*  Montaigne  relates  some  striking  instances  of  the  stunning,  dum- 
foundering  effect  of  strong  emotion   (Essays,  Booli  I.,  Chap.   II.). 

2  Darwin  has  noticed  the  value  of  attention  for  purposes  of  training 
even  among  the  lower  animals.     See  Descent  of  Man,  Vol.  I.,  p.  43. 

8  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Act  I.,  Scene  1. 


GEl^ERALISATION  223 

be  by  preference  agreeable.  We  cannot  however  always 
afford  to  wait  till  an  interest  spontaneously  grows. 
We  have  therefore  often  to  create  an  interest.  In  fact, 
at  the  beginning  of  a  study,  before  it  has  formed  any 
associations  of  thought  or  feeling,  we  must  simply  force 
ourselves  to  be  interested;  and  the  resolute  will  is 
generally  rewarded  at  last  by  the  interest  becoming 
spontaneous.  But  attention  thus  created  is  no  longer 
purely  passive ;   it  has  become  an  active  effort  of  will. 

2.  Attention,  as  we  have  seen,  makes  a  selection 
among  the  manifold  phenomena  of  conscious  life;  and 
when  attention  is  voluntary,  the  selection  is  directed, 
not  by  the  blind  impulse  of  instinctive  feeling,  but  by  a 
purposive  effort  of  intelligence.  Instead,  therefore,  of 
energy  being  dissipated  in  needless  activities,  it  is  con- 
centrated on  one  object.  The  result  is,  that  exertion 
throws  off  the  awkwardness  which  is  displayed  in 
wasted  energy,  and  takes  on  that  masterly  skill  which 
controls  all  the  instrumentalities  of  mental  life  —  nerve 
and  muscle  and  brain  —  to  its  purpose.  The  effect  of 
this  is  peculiarly  noticeable  in  the  observation  of  facts. 

(a)  The  attentive  observer  perceives  facts  which  are 
overlooked  by  others,  or  at  least  perceives  them  much 
more  quickly.  This  finds  a  simple,  but  striking,  illus- 
tration in  experiments  on  reaction-time.  These  experi- 
ments seek  to  find  how  long  consciousness  requires  to 
respond  to  a  given  stimulus,  such  as  the  tinkle  of  a  bell.^ 
It  is  found  that  the  interval  between  the  stimulus  and 
the  conscious  reaction  is  shortened  or  lengthened  in  a 
remarkable  degree  by  the  presence  or  absence  of  an 

*  See  above,  pp.  32-33.     Consult  James's  Principles  of  Psychology, 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  427-434. 


224  PSYCHOLOGY 

attentively  expectant  attitude  of  mind.  But  such  ex- 
periments only  put  in  an  exact  form  what  has  with  less 
exactness  been  well  known  from  of  old.  All  men  know 
from  personal  experience  that  often  a  phenomenon  may 
be  lying  before  their  eyes  for  a  long  time  and  yet 
remain  unobserved  until  their  attention  is  called  to  it 
specially.  It  is  said  that  great  scientific  discoveries 
have  often  been  due  to  accident.  But  it  is  a  significant 
fact  that  the  so-called  accidental  discoveries  are  made 
always  by  minds  specially  trained  to  direct  their  atten- 
tion to  the  point  where  the  undiscovered  truth  lies. 

(h)  Another  effect  of  expectant  attention  illustrates 
its  influence  over  conscious  life,  l^ot  only  does  it 
observe  facts  more  readily,  but  it  even  imagines  facts 
where  there  are  none  to  be  observed.  For  attention, 
directed  with  some  intensity  to  any  organ,  probably  by 
disturbing  the  circulation,  sets  up  certain  organic 
changes  which  excite  a  subjective  sensation.^  Many 
hallucinations  may  obviously  be  traced  to  this  source. 
'^  Quae  expectamus,  facile  credimus."  Perhaps  it  is 
this  effect  of  expectant  attention  in  many  a  region  of 
mental  life  that  has  given  rise  to  the  proverbial  saying 
about  the  w^ish  being  father  to  the  thought. 

The  value  of  attention,  however,  is  not  confined  to 
speculative  intelligence;    it  is  equally  valuable  in  prac- 

^  One  of  the  earliest  writers  to  note  this  fact  was  Sir  Henry  Holland 
in  Chapters  on  Mental  Physiology  (1st  ed.  1839).  See  Chap.  III. 
Compare  Carpenter's  Mental  Physiology,  pp.  144-146  (Amer.  ed.). 
Carpenter  is  fond  of  explaining  the  testimony  of  mesmerists  and  spir- 
itualists to  preternatural  phenomena  by  this  effect  of  expectant  atten- 
tion. See  Chap.  XVI.  A  very  elaborate  description  of  such  effects  is 
given  in  a  more  recent  work  by  Dr.  Hack  Tuke,  Illustrations  of  the 
Influence  of  the  Mind  iipon  the  Body  in  Health  and  Disease,  designed 
to  elucidate  the  Action  of  Imagination  (Amer.  ed.  by  H.  C.  Lea's  Son 
&  Co.,  Philadelphia).  In  special  connection  with  our  present  subject, 
see  Chaps.  II.,  VII.,  XIV.,  and  XVI. 


GENERALISATION  225 

tice.  Even  the  inventions  of  practical  life,  which,  like 
the  discoveries  of  science,  are  often  ascribed  to  accident, 
find  their  explanation  in  the  same  way;  and  the  de- 
spondent mind,  that  is  apt  to  be  perplexed  and  baffled 
by  every  practical  difiiciilty,  is  shamed  before  an  intelli- 
gence trained  and  controlled  by  energetic  resolution, 
acting  always  on  the  bold  assumption  that  "  where 
there  's  a  will  there  's  a  way." 

The  necessity  of  such  concentration  in  all  forms  of 
culture  points  to  the  dependence  of  intellectual  great- 
ness on  a  certain  kind  of  moral  greatness,  —  on  the 
power  of  will  "  to  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious 
days,"  in  order  to  the  attainment  of  a  philosophic  or  ar- 
tistic ideal.  For  practical  wisdom,  therefore,  as  well  as 
for  insight  into  the  theory  of  abstraction,  the  student 
may  read  with  profit  the  interesting  citations  which  Sir 
W.  Hamilton  has  collected  from  the  testimony  of  great 
men  who  have  ascribed  any  intellectual  eminence  they 
have  attained  to  their  superior  power  of  attention.^ 

III.  To  return  to  the  intellectual  aspect  of  abstrac- 
tion, it  will  be  seen  that  the  selection  which  it  makes 
among  the  facts  of  consciousness  is  merely  one  form  of 
that  process  of  comparison  which  detects  the  identities 
and  differences  of  things.  Selection  is  explicitly  differ- 
entiation, though  implicitly  it  is  identification  at  the 
same  time.  It  thus  appears  also  that  abstraction  is 
identical  with  that  mental  process  which  under  the  name 
of  analysis  takes  such  a  prominent  place  in  the  methods 
of  all  intellectual  work.  Analysis  is  an  intellectual 
necessity,  owing  to  the  extreme  multiplicity  and  com- 
plexity of  the  world  we  are  called  to  know.     We  never 

*  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  255-261. 
15 


226  PSYCHOLOGY 

find,  and  cannot  even  imagine,  one  object,  or  one 
aspect  of  an  object,  existing  apart  from  all  others.  On 
tlic  contrary,  every  object  holds  some  relation  to  other 
objects,  and  the  various  parts  or  the  various  qualities  of 
an  object  appear  in  our  consciousness  as  if  they  had 
grown  together,  —  that  is,  had  become  concixte. 
They  thus  appear  to  our  intelligence  as  if  they  had  been 
fused  together  indistinguishably,  confused  or  con- 
founded. It  is  this  natural  concretion  or  confusion  of 
phenomena  that  intelligence  is  called  to  comprehend, 
and  it  does  so  by  abstracting,  and  attending  to,  them  one 
by  one.  Thus,  when  in  literary  study  we  come  upon  a 
sentence  which  we  do  not  understand,  we  proceed  to 
analyse  it,  —  that  is,  to  study  separately  the  "  parts 
of  speech  "  of  w^hich  it  is  composed.  AVhen  a  plant  or 
an  animal  is  submitted  for  examination,  if  we  would 
make  our  knowledge  of  it  exact  and  complete,  we  must 
study  apart  the  different  organs  of  w^hich  it  is  formed, 
or  the  qualities,  such  as  colour  and  figure,  which  consti- 
tute its  different  aspects.  The  relations,  also,  in  which 
one  object  stands  to  another  may  be  separately  consid- 
ered; we  may  investigate  their  relations  in  space  or 
their  relations  in  time,  their  resemblances  or  their  points 
of  contrast,  or  their  adaptability  to  various  ends.  Thus 
any  of  the  multitudinous  facts  in  the  confusing  compli- 
cation of  the  phenomena  presented  in  consciousness  may 
be  made  an  object  of  abstract  attention,  and  the  entire 
complication  may  be  completely  evolved  into  distinct 
cognition. 

The  method  of  analysis,  as  we  have  seen,  is  imposed 
by  the  insuperable  limitations  of  human  nature.  These 
limitations  require  of  the  intellectual  worker  that  he 


GENERALISATION  227 

shall,  first  of  all,  restrict  the  field  of  his  lahour  within 
the  capacities  of  human  intelligence.  Even  amid  the 
vast  extensions  of  science  in  the  modern  world,  it  is  true, 
we  sometimes  hear  a  man  flattered  still  by  being  de- 
scribed as  a  walking  cyclopaedia.  But  if  the  phrase 
were  taken  to  imply  more  than  a  very  hyperbolical  com- 
pliment, if  any  man  attempted  to  realise  it  in  his  own 
person,  he  would  certainly  bring  down  upon  himself 
the  homely  stigma  of  being  jack  of  all  trades,  but  master 
of  none.  ^^  Man  muss  sich  beschranken  (one  must  limit 
oneself),"  said  Goethe.  Even  after  a  special  field  of 
labour  is  selected,  the  mastery  of  it  demands  the  same 
method  of  limitation.  Every  object  in  the  field  is  found 
to  be  more  or  less  complicated.  Its  parts  and  qualities 
must  therefore  be  analysed, — that  is,  examined  with  at- 
tention one  by  one.  "  Divide  et  impera  "  is  a  rule  for 
intellectual  conquests  as  for  every  other;  and  Locke 
applies  it  to  education  in  his  wise  hint  that  "  the  great 
art  of  learning  much  is  to  learn  little  at  a  time." 

IV.  The  process  thus  described  will  now  be  seen  to 
have  a  certain  artificiality,  and  that  in  both  of  its  as- 
pects, as  abstraction  and  as  attention.  As  abstraction  or 
analysis,  it  breaks  up  into  a  fictitious  separateness  phe- 
nomena which  are  never,  and  in  many  cases  can  never 
be,  really  separated  in  the  concrete  groups  presented  by 
nature.  As  attention,  it  arrests  the  variation  which  we 
have  seen  to  be  essential  to  conscious  activity  by 
endeavouring  to  sustain  one  state  of  consciousness  con- 
tinuously. This  artificiality  is  so  obvious  that,  as 
nature  of  course  cannot  be  really  violated,  there  is  in 
fact  no  such  activity  as  purely  abstract  thinking.  Thus, 
on  the  one  hand,  except  perhaps  in  rare  cases  of  mys- 


228  PSYCHOLOGY 

tical  absorption,  when  in  point  of  fact  consciousness 
approaches  a  sort  of  nirvana  or  annihilation,  sustained 
attention  Avill  be  found,  on  careful  inspection,  to  be  not 
a  continuance  of  one  unvarying  conscious  state,  but 
rather  a  series  of  repeated  efforts  to  inhibit  the  sugges- 
tion of  irrelevant  thoughts,  such  as  are  always  hovering 
on  the  circumference  of  that  circle  of  conscious  life, 
the  centre  of  which  commands  the  effort  of  attention. 
However,  as  attention  or  abstraction  runs  counter  to 
certain  tendencies  of  mental  nature,  concrete  thinking 
is  more  natural  than  abstract,  and  it  comes  first  in  the 
natural  evolution  of  mind.  The  analytic  abstractions 
of  scientific  thought  belong  only  to  the  later  evolutions 
of  intelligence.  This  fact  finds  an  interesting  illustra- 
tion in  language.  The  languages  of  uncivilised  tribes 
are  characterised  not  only  by  a  singular  poverty  of 
abstract  forms,  but  by  a  curious  syncretism  which  em- 
bodies in  one  word  a  confused  mixture  of  ideas  that 
would  find  separate  expression  in  the  analytic  languages 
of  civilised  peoples.-^ 

But  though  abstraction  has  thus  a  certain  artificiality, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  to  be  wholly  unnatural.  There 
is  a  provision  for  it  in  our  nature.  Even  the  physical 
organisation  of  a  human  being  adapts  him  for  this  de- 
composition of  a  complex  phenomenon,  inasmuch  as 
many  of  its  factors  —  its  sensible  qualities  at  least  — 
are  made  known  to  him  through  separate  organs.  It  is 
not  to  be  overlooked,  however,  that  this  does  not  afford 
an  adequate  provision  for  abstraction ;  for  sense,  though 
giving   different   impressions,    gives   them   in   concrete 

^  See  Thomson's  Outline  of  the  Laws  of  Thought,  §§  20-22  ;  Kenan's 
L'Origin^  du  Langage,  Chap.  VII. ;  Romanes's  Mental  Evolution  in  Man, 
Chap.  XIV. 


GENERALISATION  229 

combinations  which  it  is  the  function  of  intelligence  to 
analyse.  It  is  therefore  the  mental  organisation,  rather 
than  the  physical,  that  makes  analysis  natural.  For 
it  is  the  function  of  intelligence  to  judge,  —  that  is,  to 
think  of  every  subject  as  marked  by  this  or  that  predi- 
cate, or  to  think  of  it  as  a  whole  made  up  of  this,  that, 
and  other  parts. 

To  guard  against  misapprehension,  it  only  remains 
to  add  that  an  abstract  notion,  as  such,  is  not  yet 
necessarily  general.  I  may  attend  exclusively  to  some 
aspect  of  an  individual;  and  so  far  I  form  an  ab- 
stract notion  that  is  singular.  This  observation  may  be 
useful  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  terms  general  and 
abstract  are  often  used  convertibly  in  popular  language, 
and  even  by  some  psychological  writers  who  have  been 
influenced  by  the  usage  of  Locke.  The  reason  of  this 
confusion  will  immediately  appear. 

§  2.  —  Generalisation  Proper. 

The  fact  is,  that  in  the  natural  evolution  of  conscious- 
ness the  abstract  notion  never  rests  at  the  stage  of 
singularity.  This  must  be  evident  from  the  nature  of 
the  process  of  perception,  which  was  described  at  the 
beginning  of  the  previous  chapter.  It  was  there  shown 
that  even  in  perceiving  the  individual  we  assign  it  to  its 
class,  —  that  is,  we  identify  one  or  more  of  its  qualities 
with  one  or  more  of  the  qualities  of  other  individuals. 
There  is  not  therefore  the  radical  distinction  which  the 
old  psychologists  supposed  between  the  perception  of  an 
individual  and  the  conception  of  a  class.  As  we  pro- 
ceed, they  wiU  appear  rather  intellectual  acts  of  the 


230  PSYCHOLOGY 

same  complex  nature,  with  the  general  element  subor- 
dinated in  one  case  and  brought  into  prominence  in  the 
other.  In  fact,  it  may  sometimes  happen  to  be  doubtful 
whether  our  consciousness  should  be  described  as  indi- 
vidual or  as  general  in  its  reference.  Suppose,  for  exam- 
ple, the  word  apple  is  spoken.  That  word  will  bring  up 
an  image,  more  or  less  vague,  of  the  object  it  is  used  to 
denote.  But  this  image  may  be  thought  as  representa- 
tive of  all  similar  objects,  or  merely  as  representative  of 
some  particular  apple  that  I  saw  or  ate  to-day.  In  the 
former  case  my  consciousness  is  to  be  regarded  as  the 
concept  of  a  class ;  in  the  latter,  as  the  imagination  only 
of  an  individual. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  in  all  cognition  there  is  a 
general  factor,  which  receives  prominence  in  the  cogni- 
tion of  a  class,  but  retires  into  a  subordinate  place  in  the 
cognition  of  an  individual.  This  factor  is  that  which, 
when  disconnected  from  the  rest,  is  spoken  of  as  an 
abstract  notion.  An  abstract  notion,  as  we  have  seen 
in  the  previous  section  of  this  chapter,  is  a  consciousness 
of  some  quality  or  aspect  of  an  object  considered  with- 
out reference  to  others.  When  a  quality,  of  which  an 
abstract  notion  might  be  formed,  is  cognised  in  actual 
connection  with  a  certain  set  of  other  phenomena,  the 
cognition  is  a  perception ;  the  notion  of  the  quality  loses 
its  abstractness,  it  becomes  concreted  with  the  other 
phenomena.  The  notion  of  a  quality  loses  its  abstract- 
ness also  when  it  becomes  general;  but  in  this  case  it 
is  conceived  as  in  possible  connection  with  numerous 
sets  of  phenomena.  Thus  the  cognition  expressed  in 
"  I  perceive  this  quadruped  "  implies  the  connection  of 
four-footedness  with  an  individual  set  of  phenomena; 


GENERALISATION  231 

while  the  cognition  "  I  conceive  a  quadruped  "  implies 
the  connection  of  the  same  quality,  not  with  any  definite 
set  of  actual  phenomena,  but  with  an  indefinite  number 
of  possible  phenomena.  In  other  words,  the  notion  of 
a  quality,  which  in  itself  is  an  abstract  notion,  becomes 
general  when  it  is  thought  as  applying  to  various  in- 
dividuals, as  it  is  singular  when  it  applies  only  to  one. 

It  is  not  therefore  wonderful  that  doubt  should  have 
arisen  as  to  the  order  in  which  our  knowledge  of  indi- 
viduals and  of  classes  has  been  evolved.  The  doubt 
has  in  fact  originated  a  controversy  known  in  former 
times  as  the  question  of  the  Primum  Cognitum}  The 
controversy  deals  with  the  problem  whether  our  knowl- 
edge, and  therefore  our  language,  begins  with  classes 
or  with  individuals.  Two  antagonistic  theories  most 
readily  suggest  themselves  to  the  mind,  —  one  holding 
that  knowledge  starts  from  individual  objects  and  as- 
cends from  these  to  classes,  another  that  the  evolution  of 
intelligence  is  in  the  reverse  way.  The  young  student  of 
psychology  is  apt  to  be  perplexed  at  first  by  the  array 
of  facts  which  each  of  these  rival  theories  is  capable 

*  Of  this  controversy  an  Interesting  historical  and  critical  sketch  Is 
given  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  in  his  Lectures  on  Metaphj/sics,  Vol.  II., 
pp.  319-332.  Some  interesting  remarks  on  the  question,  from  a  philo- 
logical point  of  view,  will  be  found  in  Max  Miiller's  Lectures  on  the 
Science  of  Language  (First  Series),  pp.  373-386.  The  disputants  in 
this  controversy,  as  in  similar  questions  of  origin,  seem  at  times  to 
lose  sight  of  the  distinction  between  the  logical  or  rational  and  the 
chronological  or  historical  or  temporal  order  of  evolution.  Sir  W.  Hamil- 
ton (Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Vol.  II.,  p.  27,  and  again,  p.  352)  has 
drawn  attention  to  a  felicitous  expression  of  this  distinction  by  Patrizzi, 
"  Cognltlo  omnis  a  mente  primara  origlnem,  a  sensibus  exordium  habet 
primum."  The  distinction  forms  a  prominent  feature  of  Cousin's  cele- 
brated critique  of  Locke  in  his  Course  of  the  History  of  Modern  Phi- 
losophy. See  especially  Lecture  17.  This  ambiguity  involved  in  the 
idea  of  origin  vitiates  at  times  the  labours  of  the  so-called  Historical 
School,  which  has  done  such  good  service  in  tracing  the  evolution  of 
human  institutions. 


232  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  summoning  to  its  support.  We  are  now  in  a  position 
to  see  that  either  theory  expresses  a  part,  but  only  a  part, 
of  the  truth,  and  that  there  is  a  point  of  larger  view 
which  embraces  the  partial  truth  of  both. 

1.  Our  analysis  of  perception  in  its  various  compli- 
cations has  dispelled  the  popular  mistake,  which  still 
infects  much  of  our  scientific  literature,  that  the  indi- 
vidual is  a  ready-made  object,  presented  to  the  mind 
by  an  indecomposable  flash  of  intuition.  The  cognition 
by  which  the  individual  is  revealed  to  consciousness 
might  rather  be  compared  to  a  many-coloured  light  whose 
variously  tinted  rays  are  brought  by  the  mind  itself 
to  the  focus  of  distinct  vision.  In  other  w^ords,  an 
individual  object  of  perception  is  the  result  of  an  intel- 
lectual process;  and  the  process  is  one  that  continues 
with  every  definition  of  individuality,  with  every  exten- 
sion of  our  insight  into  the  attributes  by  which  an  object 
is  differentiated  from  all  others.  It  is  evident,  there- 
fore, that  our  knowledge  cannot  begin  with  individuals. 

2.  But  it  would  be  equally  incorrect  to  suppose  that 
knowledge  starts  from  classes.  The  child,  indeed,  learns 
at  an  early  period  certain  broad  differences  between 
things;  but  these  differences  remain  for  a  long  time 
very  broad,  and  it  is  only  after  a  considerable  evolution 
of  intelligence  that  they  are  narrowed  down  to  definite 
characteristics,  and  conceived  as  belonging  in  common 
to  a  number  of  individuals  which  are  thus  constituted 
into  a  distinct  class. 

It  cannot  therefore  be  said  that  knowledge  begins 
with  what  is  definitely  general  any  more  than  with 
what  is  definitely  individual.  Since  neither  of  these 
alternatives  is  admissible,  there  is  but  one  conclusion 


GENERALISATION^  233 

to  which  we  are  shut  up:  knowledge  must  begin  with 
something  that  is  indefinite.  Now  we  have  seen  in 
Book  I.  that  the  raw  materials  of  knowledge,  as  of 
all  mental  life,  are  sensations.  It  is  true  these  cannot, 
as  such,  be  called  cognitions;  but  cognition  begins  with 
the  definition  of  sensations  in  consciousness,  —  that  is, 
with  the  identification  of  those  that  resemble,  and  the 
discrimination  of  those  that  differ.  A\Tienever  I  be- 
come conscious,  however  vaguely,  that  a  sensation 
experienced  now  differs  from  other  sensations  and  yet 
resembles  some  sensations  felt  before,  the  sensation 
becomes  to  that  extent  defined,  —  that  is,  definitely 
known.  This  is  the  fact  that  is  formulated  in  the  logi- 
cal doctrine  that  a  proper  definition  must  predicate  of 
the  subject  defined  its  proximate  genus  and  its  differen- 
tia^ in  other  words,  must  identify  it  with  the  class 
to  which  it  belongs,  and  differentiate  it  from  other  sub- 
jects in  the  same  class.  Every  advance  in  knowledge, 
therefore,  must  be  a  progress  towards  the  more  definite 
discrimination  of  a  phenomenon  from  those  that  are 
different,  and  its  more  definite  identification  with  those 
which  it  resembles.  This,  however,  is  merely  another 
way  of  saying  that  the  evolution  of  knowledge  is  in  the 
direction  at  once  of  more  definite  individualisation  and 
more  definite  generalisation. 

With  regard  to  the  Primum  Cognitum,  while  neither 
of  the  above-mentioned  rival  theories  can  be  maintained 
in  its  exclusiveness,  it  is  not  to  be  overlooked  that  the 
perception  of  the  individual  is  an  easier  process  of 
intelligence  than  the  conception  of  a  class ;  and  therefore 
it  was  observed  above,  that  naturally  the  perception  of 
the  individual  comes  first  in  the  evolution  of  intelli- 


234  PSYCHOLOGY 

gence.  For,  although  the  individual  is  not  a  simple 
object  apprehended  by  an  indivisible  act  of  cognition, 
yet  its  complexity  is  based  mainly  on  the  natural  asso- 
ciations of  space  and  time;  the  individual  is  a  concre- 
tion of  nature.  But  in  the  conception  of  a  class  the 
mind  requires  to  abstract  from  the  concretions  obtruded 
on  it  by  nature,  and  to  form  a  combination  of  its  own 
among  individuals  that  are  related,  not  by  spatial  or 
temporal  associations,  but  merely  by  resemblance.  It 
is  for  this  reason  that  concrete  thinking  is  conmaonly 
more  natural  than  that  which  is  abstract  or  general; 
while  concrete  forms  of  expression  are  most  readily 
intelligible,  and  are  therefore  always  to  be  preferred 
in  addressing  children  or  untutored  minds. 

Accordingly  it  is  not  incorrect  to  regard  generalisa- 
tion as  a  measure  of  the  mastery  of  nature  by  human 
intelligence.  It  is  true  that  even  the  perception  of 
individuals  is  a  certain  mastery  of  intelligence  over  the 
confusing  variety  of  nature ;  it  is  also  true,  as  we  have 
seen,  that  perception  implies  a  certain  generalisation, 
for  the  individual  perceived  must  be  referred  to  its 
class;  and  it  is  true  still  further,  that  every  ascent  in 
generalisation  extends  our  insight  into  the  nature  of 
individuals  by  unfolding  their  relations  to  one  another. 
Still,  it  is  by  knowing  the  unities  that  pervade  nature, 
rather  than  by  acquaintance  with  a  multitude  of  indi- 
viduals, that  nature  becomes  intelligible.  Particulars, 
even  when  cognised  as  individual  objects,  are  so  multi- 
tudinous and  so  various  as  to  be  hopelessly  perplexing 
to  the  limited  understanding  of  man  until  they  are 
reduced  to  some  kind  of  comprehensible  unity  by  classi- 
fication.    The  grouping,  therefore,  of  any  number  of 


GEXERALISATION"  235 

individuals  into  a  class  by  the  recognition  of  some  fea- 
ture common  to  them  all  is  man's  intellectual  conquest 
of  their  perplexing  multiplicity.  The  whole  class  of 
objects  can  then  be  treated  as  a  single  object  of  thought ; 
and  by  the  discovery  of  a  resemblance  between  it  and 
other  classes  we  may  ascend  to  a  higher  genus  which 
embraces  them  all.  This  process,  which  is  the  process 
of  science,  may  be  carried  on  till  we  reach  some  supreme 
generalisation  in  which  all  the  subordinate  classes  shall 
find  their  appropriate  place. 

At  low  stages  of  culture,  as  might  be  expected,  this 
process  has  advanced  but  a  short  way.  It  appears  from 
the  languages  of  many  savage  tribes  that  they  have  not 
reached  the  higher  classifications  that  are  familiar 
among  civilised  men,  though  they  often  possess  a  luxu- 
riant growth  of  expressions  for  the  lower  species.  In 
some  Australian  languages,  for  example,  there  are  no 
generic  names  for  tree,  fish,  or  bird,  but  only  specific 
names  for  the  different  kinds  of  each.  The  languages 
of  the  uncivilised  races  are  also,  as  we  have  seen, 
extremely  deficient  in  abstract  terms.  Of  a  piece  with 
this  is  the  extremely  limited  capacity  of  savages  in 
regard  to  numbers,  the  limit  in  many  cases  being  appar- 
ently the  five  fingers  of  one  hand,  or  at  most  the  ten 
fingers  of  the  two.'^ 

But  the  truth  of  all  this  must  be  understood  as  by  no 
means  implying  that  the  savage  has  reached  definite 
individualisation   before   reaching   definite   generalisa- 

^  Facts  Illustrative  of  these  statements  will  be  found  In  Tylor's 
Primitive  Culture,  Chap.  VII.  ;  Lubbock's  Prehistoric  Times,  pp.  437-439, 
and  562-563  ;  H.  Spencer's  Principlci  of  Sociology,  Tart  I.,  Chap.  VII., 
§  43.  An  Interesting  summary  of  facts,  with  numerous  references  to 
sources  of  further  Information,  Is  given  by  Romanes  In  Mental  Evolu- 
tion in  Man,  pp.  348-353. 


236  PSYCHOLOGY 

tioii.  It  is  true  that  a  comparatively  uncultured  mind 
sometimes  attains  a  peculiar  definiteness  of  individuali- 
sation.  This  is  illustrated  in  the  familiar  fact  that  a 
peasant  will  distinguish  from  one  another  his  sheep 
and  cattle  which  seem  to  many  a  cultured  mind  desti- 
tute of  any  individual  differences.  However,  the  truth 
is,  that  the  peasant  is  not  uncultured,  but  has  really 
received  a  high  degree  of  special  culture  in  this  par- 
ticular field  of  knowledge.  His  experience  therefore, 
instead  of  contradicting,  serves  only  to  illustrate  the 
general  law  that  in  every  sphere  of  objects  —  in  simple 
sensations,  in  tastes  or  odours,  in  sounds  or  colours  or 
touches,  as  well  as  in  complex  combinations  —  it  is  only 
the  trained  intelligence  that  perceives  individual  differ- 
ences exactly.  This  is  illustrated  perhaps  most  strik- 
ingly as  well  as  familiarly  in  the  recognition  of  human 
beings.  In  very  early  childhood  the  knowledge  of  indi- 
viduals is  obviously  indefinite;  any  man  or  w^oman  may 
for  the  moment  be  taken  for  father  or  mother.  Even 
in  mature  life  the  inaccuracy  of  ordinary  untrained  per- 
ception is  sho^vn  in  the  frequent  instances  of  mistaken 
identity.  Unerring  recognition  is  in  fact  limited  to  per- 
sons whom  long  and  intimate  knowledge  has  trained  our 
intelligence  to  recognise  by  certain  unmistakable  fea- 
tures, and  whom  therefore  we  describe  as  well  hnown. 
In  all  other  cases  our  intelligence  is  apt  to  leave  us  in  the 
lurch,  either  by  failing  to  recognise  a  person  who  had 
been  formerly  known,  or  by  an  illusory  identification 
with  some  other  person  whom  he  happens  to  resemble. 
Even  in  the  circle  of  daily  acquaintances  we  sometimes 
mistake  one  brother  or  sister  for  another,  though  there 
may  be  a  difference  in  their  ages;  while  in  the  case 


ge:n"eralisation  237 

of  twins  the  discrimination  is  often  impossible  even  for 
daily  ac(][uaintances.  Galton  mentions  nine  instances 
he  had  discovered  in  which  one  of  twins  had  mistaken 
for  the  other  an  image  of  himself  reflected  in  a  large 
mirror.^  The  amusing  perplexities  caused  by  the  con- 
fusion of  twins  have  formed  a  favourite  theme  of  com- 
edy from  Plautus's  Menaechmi  to  Shakespeare's  Comedy 
of  Errors  and  Twelfth  Night,  But  the  illusions  of 
mistaken  identity  have  a  tragic  as  well  as  a  comic  side. 
In  the  administration  of  criminal  law  not  a  few  cases 
are  on  record  in  which  men  have  been  condemned,  even 
to  capital  punishment,  on  testimony  which  was  after- 
wards proved  to  be  founded  on  such  illusions.  The 
recent  methods  of  anthropometry,  which  have  already 
been  found  of  great  service  to  police  in  the  identification 
of  criminals,  afford  a  new  illustration  of  the  necessity 
of  scientific  training  for  exact  knowledge  of  individuals 
as  well  as  of  classes. 

The  progress  of  knowledge  —  the  mastery  of  nature 
by  human  intelligence  —  may  therefore  truly  be  said 
to  be  indicated  by  both  individualisation  and  generali- 
sation alike. 

§  3.  —  'Denomination. 

^  The  process  of  generalisation  is  incomplete  till  the 
class,  which  has  been  formed  by  thought,  receives  a 
name.  J^ow,  since  nature  becomes  intelligible  only  in 
proportion  as  its  manifold  phenomena  are  grouped  into 
classes,  it  is  evident  that  intelligence  implies  the  forma- 
tion of  general  terms.     Consequently  general  terms  are 

»  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  p.  221.  The  whole  passage  on  twins, 
pp.  216-243^  is  interesting 


238  PSYCHOLOGY 

found  ill  all  languages,  being  in  fact  essential  to  the 
very  possibility  of  human  speech ;  and  their  origin,  like 
that  of  language,  dates  of  course  from  prehistoric  times. 
The  function  of  such  terms  in  human  thought  must 
therefore  be  explained  in  order  to  the  complete  expo- 
sition of  the  process  of  generalisation. 

But  this  function  has  formed  the  subject  of  an  impor- 
tant controversy  which  is  not  yet  altogether  settled. 
The  history  of  this  controversy  might  indeed  be  regarded 
in  some  measure  as  the  history  of  philosophy  itself, 
and  consequently  it  would  be  out  of  place  to  attempt 
even  a  sketch  of  it  here.  It  is  especially  unnecessary 
to  enter  upon  any  account  of  mediaeval  Realism,  w^hich 
involves  a  problem  in  ontology  rather  than  in  psychol- 
^^7'  ^^  ^^^y  therefore  confine  our  attention  to  the 
more  modern  controversy  between  Conceptualism  and 
!Nominalism,  which  does  possess  a  psychological  interest. 
The  two  rival  theories  may  be  briefly  described  as  hold- 
ing —  the  former  that  we  can,  the  latter  that  we  cannot, 
frame  some  idea  corresponding  in  generality  to  any 
class  of  things  that  we  name.  To  a  careful  reflection  it 
must  be  evident  that  even  if  the  whole  controversy 
cannot  be  set  aside  as  a  mere  dispute  about  words,  yet 
it  is  in  a  large  measure  stripped  of  any  meaning  w^hen 
the  terms  involved  are  accurately  employed.     For 

1.  On  the  one  hand,  it  must  evidently  be  conceded 
to  the  Conceptualist  that  thought  has  a  certain  gen- 
erality of  reference,  how^ever  that  may  be  explained. 
We  can  think,  judge,  reason  about  classes  of  things 
' —  about  men,  animals,  vegetables,  triangles,  circles, 
and  so  forth  —  with  the  clear  consciousness  that  our 
thoughts,  judgments,  reasonings,  hold  good  with  regard 


GE]^ERALISATIOK  230 

to  the  whole  of  each  class.  On  any  other  supposition 
science,  and  ordinary  thinking  itself,  would  be  impos- 
sible; and  the  language  of  Nominalists,  when  fairly 
considered,  never  amounts  to  a  denial  of  this. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  with  equal  certainty 
be  conceded  to  the  Nominalist  that  we  cannot  form  a 
mental  image  of  a  class,  —  that  is,  an  image  combining 
all  the  contradictory  attributes  by  which  the  different 
individuals  of  the  class  are  distinguished  from  each 
other.  Whenever  the  doctrine  of  Conceptual  ism  seems 
to  maintain  this,  the  very  statement  of  it  becomes  its 
adequate  refutation.  Take,  for  example,  the  well- 
known  passage  of  Locke's  Essay  Concerning  Human 
Understanding:  ^  "  Does  it  not  require  some  pains  and 
skill  to  form  the  general  idea  of  a  triangle  (which  ia 
yet  none  of  the  most  abstract,  comprehensive,  or  difl&- 
cult)  ;  for  it  must  be  neither  oblique,  nor  rectangle, 
neither  equilateral,  equicrural,  nor  scalenon;  but  all 
and  none  of  these  at  once.  In  effect,  it  is  something 
imperfect  that  cannot  exist ;  an  idea,  wherein  some  parts 
of  several  different  and  inconsistent  ideas  are  put  to- 
gether." This  has  not  unfairly  been  regarded  as  a 
reductio  ad  ahsurdum. 

It  would  thus  appear,  in  fact,  that  Nominalist  and 
Conceptualist  are  for  the  most  part  at  cross  purposes 
with  one  another  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  term  idea, 
perhaps  also  of  some  of  its  equivalents.  This  term  has 
undergone  such  a  variation  in  its  usage,  from  its  first 
apotheosis  by  Plato  to  its  modern  degradation,  that 
there  might  be  a  gain  on  the  whole  for  scientific  exact- 
ness if  it  were  banished  altogether  from  the  literature 

1  Book  IV.,  Chap.   VII.,  §  9. 


240  rSYCHOLOGY 

of  psychology.*  There  are  at  least  two  very  different 
mental  phenomena  to  which  it  is  applied.  One  is  the 
mental  representation  which  revives  any  percept,  any 
object  that  has  been  formerly  presented  to  the  mind. 
This  is  most  appropriately  called  an  image.  Another 
is  the  thought  by  which  we  conceive  such  an  image  as 
representing,  not  its  original,  but  rather  a  whole  class 
of  objects  which  resemble  that  original  in  some  definite 
property.  Such  a  tliought  is  more  properly  named  a 
concept.  In  such  a  concept  we  attend  mainly,  if  not 
exclusively,  to  the  class-property  of  the  object  that  is 
imaged,  and  attention  is  therefore  of  course  correspond- 
ingly abstracted  from  all  its  other  properties. 

Some  writers  contend  for  a  third  use  of  the  word  idea 
to  denote  the  mental  picture  that  is  said  to  be  formed 
by  a  number  of  images  from  the  same  class  of  objects 
being  fused  into  one  indefinite  image,  somewhat  in 
the  same  way  in  which  a  number  of  faces  can,  by  a 
photographic  artifice,  be  fused  into  one  composite  por- 
trait. This  order  of  ideas  appears  to  have  been  first 
suggested  by  Huxley.^  But  the  suggestion  was  taken 
up  and  elaborated  by  Romanes,  who  adopts  Huxley's 
designation  of  ''  generic  ideas "  for  the  phenomena, 
though  he  recommends  also  the  term  recepts  in  order 
to  bring  them  into  more  pointed  contrast  with  percepts 
on  the  one  hand,  and  concepts  on  the  other.  ^  The  doc- 
trine has  likewise  received  a  certain  recognition  from 

*  The  history  of  this  word  has  yet  to  be  written.  The  materials  for 
Buch  a  history  will  be  found  in  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  edition  of  Reid'a 
Works,  Note  G.  Compare  Hamilton's  Discussions,  pp.  69-71.  "  Word 
and  thing,"  says  Hamilton,  ''  ideas  have  been  the  cruw  philosophorum, 
since  Aristotle  sent  them  packing  {xaipiTuxrav  i54ai)  to  the  present  day." 

»  Huxley's  Hume,  pp.  94-97. 

'  Romanes's  Mental  Evolution  in  Man,  Chap.  II. 


GENERALISATION  241 

James/  and  more  recently  it  has  been  brought  into 
prominence  by  Ribot.^ 

Romanes  and  Ribot  especially,  but  also  Huxley, 
viewing  the  human  mind  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
general  theory  of  evolution,  are  naturally  attracted  to 
this  doctrine  as  apparently  helping  us  to  represent  the 
evolution  of  intelligence  without  any  absolute  breach 
of  continuity  between  perception  and  conception,  be- 
tween singular  and  general  ideas.  Accordingly  "  ge- 
neric "  ideas  are  interpreted  as  indicating  an  automatic 
and  unconscious  generalisation,  and  forming  a  tran- 
sition to  the  higher  activity  of  conceptual  generalisation, 
which  implies  a  voluntary  effort  of  conscious  abstrac- 
tion. Moreover,  while  it  is  held  that  language  is  indis- 
pensable to  the  formation  of  abstract  and  general  con- 
cepts, ^^  generic "  ideas  are  supposed  to  be  possible 
without  language,  and  their  presence  can  be  detected 
in  the  mental  life  of  the  lower  animals.  In  this  way  a 
bridge  is  thrown  over  the  chasm  between  the  animal 
mind  and  the  human.  But  the  theory,  as  thus  elab- 
orated, inevitably  suggests  some  critical  scruples. 

1.  In  the  first  place,  this  extension  of  the  theory 
into  the  sphere  of  animal  life  betrays  something  of 
that  unscientific  daring  which  vitiates  a  good  deal  of 
animal  psychology.  None  of  the  facts  adduced  prove 
the  possession  by  animals  of  ideas  that  can  be  called 
either  generic  or  general  in  any  intelligible  meaning 
of  these  terms.  Thus,  to  use  a  repeated  illustration 
of  Romanes',  ^^  all  the  higher  animals  have  general  ideas 
of   '  Good-for-eating '   and   '  Not-good-for-eating,'   quit© 

>  James's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  327-329,  349-355. 
«  Rlbof  s  L'^volution  des  Id^es  06n6raleB,  pp.  14-16,  100-108. 

16 


242  PSYCHOLOGY 

apart  from  any  particular  objects  of  which  either  of 
these  qualities  happens  to  be  characteristic.  For  if 
we  give  any  of  the  higher  animals  a  onorsel  of  food 
which  it  has  never  before  met  with,  the  animal  does 
not  immediately  snap  it  up,  nor  does  it  immediately 
reject  our  ojBFer,  but  it  subjects  the  morsel  to  a  careful 
examination  before  consigning  it  to  the  mouth.'^  ^  How 
such  facts  "  prove,  if  anything  can,  that  such  an  animal 
has  a  general  or  abstract  idea  of  sweet,  bitter,  hot,  or, 
in  general,  Good-for-eating  and  E'ot-good-for-eating,"  ^ 
I  am  unable  to  see.  An  animal  approaches  an  offered 
morsel,  and,  after  smelling,  proceeds  to  devour  it  or 
turns  from  it.  There  is  nothing  evident  here,  except 
that  the  particular  scent  felt  at  the  moment  has  been 
associated  in  the  animal's  life  with  the  act  of  eating 
and  its  sensible  accompaniments  or  with  certain  repul- 
sive sensations.  There  is  nothing  to  imply  any  mental 
activity  such  as  is  always  understood  by  a  general  idea. 

2.  But  in  the  second  place,  if  there  is  any  breach 
of  continuity  in  the  process  of  intellectual  evolution, 
it  is  not  avoided  by  the  insertion  of  this  intermediate 
step.  The  step  to  deliberately  conscious  generalisation 
must  be  taken  at  some  point  in  the  process,  and  its 
distinct  originality  is  not  removed  by  multiplying  the 
number  of  unconsciously  automatic  activities  by  which 
it  is  preceded. 

3.  Then,  finally,  the  theory  ascribes  to  evolution  an 
order  that  is  not  in  accord  with  the  facts.  It  assimies 
that  intelligence  begins  with  percepts,  and  passes  from 
these,  through  recepts,  to  the  highest  conceptual  gen- 
eralisations.    But  we  have  seen  that  this  is  not  the 

»  Opu8  cit.,  p.  27.  »  lUd. 


GENERALISATION  243 

real  order  of  evolution.  Mental  life  begins  with  indef- 
inite forms  that  are  gradually  evolved  into  forms  dif- 
ferentiated as  distinctively  individual  or  distinctively 
general.  The  so-called  recepts  or  generic  ideas  seem  to 
be  merely  ideas  of  an  undifferentiated  character.  Being 
more  or  less  complex,  they  may  of  course  draw  their 
constituent  parts  from  different  percepts,  and  in  that 
way  they  may  be  regarded  as  inartistic  products  of  cre- 
ative imagination.-^  But  they  are  no  more  general  than 
any  other  image  that  is  not  conceived  as  representing 
a  class ;  and  instead  of  implying  a  step  towards  generali- 
sation, they  seem  to  indicate  rather  merely  the  absence 
of  distinct  individualisation. 

But  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of  this  theory  does 
not  essentially  modify  the  psychology  of  generalisation 
as  a  process  of  the  human  mind;  and  to  this  we  now 
return.  From  the  above  explanations  it  will  be  evident 
that  when  thought  refers  to  a  class,  as  when  it  refers 
to  an  individual,  the  mental  image  before  our  conscious- 
ness is  that  of  an  actual  or  possible  individual,  or,  if 
the  process  of  thought  is  prolonged,  there  may  be  a  series 
of  changing  images  representing  many  distinct  varieties 
in  the  class.  If  the  metital  image  before  our  conscious- 
ness were  taken  to  represent  merely  an  individual,  then 
its  individual  peculiarities  would  form  the  chief  object 
of  attention ;  but  these  peculiarities  are  abstracted  from 
as  much  as  possible  when  the  image  is  made  to  represent 
a  whole  class.  In  accordance  with  the  principles  ex- 
plained in  the  first  section  of  this  chapter,  the  attention 
is  then  concentrated  on  the  general  features  of  the  indi- 
vidual imaged, — on  those  features  which  that  individual 

»  See  below,  Chap.  IV.,  §  2,  of  this  Part. 


244  PSYCHOLOGY 

possesses  in  conmion  with  other  individuals  of  the  class. 
Accordingly  we  know  that  our  reasonings  hold  good  with 
regard  to  that  individual  simply  because  it  possesses 
the  features  of  the  whole  class,  and  therefore  that  they 
hold  good  also  of  all  individuals  possessing  the  same  gen- 
eral features.  The  function  of  the  mental  image  im- 
plied in  all  general  reasonings  is  precisely  analogous  to 
that  of  the  diagram  commonly  used  in  geometrical 
demonstrations.  The  diagram  must  be  a  single  figure 
wdth  something  to  distinguish  it  from  all  others.  If  of 
a  triangle,  for  example,  it  must  be  large  or  small,  equi- 
lateral, isosceles,  or  scalene,  right-angled,  obtuse-angled, 
or  acute-angled,  and  it  must  be  made  of  some  particular 
sort  of  stuff.  But  in  a  demonstration  we  can  think  of 
it  as  a  triangle  without  reference  to  any  of  its  individual 
peculiarities,  and  we  can  therefore  feel  assured  that 
our  demonstration  applies  equally  to  any  other  triangle 
as  such. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  explain  more  definitely 
the  part  which  general  terms  play  in  the  process  of 
generalisation.  That  part  is  twofold.  The  general 
term  assists  us  in  keeping  before  the  mind  the  class- 
properties  of  individuals  to  the  exclusion  of  their  dis- 
tinctive peculiarities;  and  it  enables  us  also  to  retain 
a  classification,  once  formed,  as  a  permanent  possession 
of  the  mind. 

1.  The  general  name  is  usually  given  to  a  number 
of  objects  because  it  is  significant  of  some  property 
which  they  all  possess,  and  consequently  it  is  calculated 
to  suggest  that  property  alone  to  the  mind.  A  general 
name,  therefore,  becomes  a  sort  of  symbol  for  all  objects 
possessing  the  property  which  it  signifies ;  and  our  gen- 


GENERALISATION  246 

eral  reasonings  accordingly  approach,  if  they  do  not 
actually  attain,  the  nature  of  symbolical  reasoning.  The 
reasoning  that  is  called  symbolical  is  typified  in  the 
sciences  of  arithmetic  and  algebra.  In  arithmetic,  by 
means  of  symbols,  we  carry  on  reasonings  about  abstract 
numbers,  —  that  is,  about  numbers  without  reference 
to  the  things  that  are  numbered;  while  in  algebra,  by 
a  similar  instrumentality,  we  can  reason  about  number 
in  the  abstract  without  reference  to  any  particular  num- 
bers. Our  general  reasonings  may  never  reach  this  abso- 
lutely symbolical  character;  but  general  terms  enable 
us  to  dispense  with  the  continued  reference  in  conscious- 
ness to  the  actual  individuals  they  signify,  in  the  same 
way,  if  not  in  the  same  degree,  as  arithmetical  figures 
and  algebraical  signs  form  an  instrument  for  working 
out  numerical  calculations  that  are  quite  independent 
on  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  things  that  may  be  num- 
bered. This  fact  may  explain  one  of  the  conclusions 
to  which  Galton's  observations  point,  that  the  habit  of 
scientific  abstraction  tends  to  inhibit  the  visualising 
imagination,  so  that  it  seems  to  be  starved  by  disuse.^ 
2.  But  there  is  another  function  for  general  terms. 
We  have  analysed  the  process  by  which  the  cognition  of 
a  class  is  formed;  but  after  the  class  is  thus  cognised, 
how  is  it  to  be  recognised  ?  The  individual,  as  a  natural 
combination,  is  perpetually  presented  in  the  course  of 
nature,  and  requires  therefore  no  other  means  of  recog- 
nition, though  the  recognition  even  of  the  individual 
is  facilitated  by  the  expedient  of  proper  names.  But 
the  class  has  no  natural  existence  like  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual, and  therefore  is  not  obtruded  on  consciousness 

*  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  pp.  109-110. 


246  PSYCHOLOGY 

again  and  again  in  the  mere  order  of  natural  events. 
How,  then,  does  it  become  a  permanent  acquisition  for 
the  mind?  By  means  of  general  terms.  The  general 
term,  we  have  seen,  is  significant  of  the  common  property 
belonging  to  a  number  of  individuals,  and  preserves  for 
us  therefore  the  fact  that  these  individuals  have  been 
grouped  into  one  class  on  the  ground  of  their  all  pos- 
sessing that  common  property.  The  process  of  classifi- 
cation has  often  been  compared  to  the  action  of  the 
merchant  who  counts  a  confused  heap  of  coins  by  group- 
ing them  in  piles  of  a  definite  number.  The  comparison 
might  be  extended  by  observing  that  as  the  contin- 
uance of  the  piles  implies  the  law  of  gravitation,  with- 
out which  they  would  all  be  scattered  as  soon  as  formed, 
so  the  permanent  classification  of  phenomena  implies 
the  faculty  of  naming,  else  the  phenomena  would  re- 
turn to  their  uncomprehended  multiplicity  as  soon  as 
they  w^ere  arranged  into  classes. 

It  has  been  questioned  whether  any  generalisation 
w^ould  be  possible  without  the  assistance  of  general 
names.  The  question  is  perhaps  futile,  as  all  normal 
human  intelligence  is  developed  by  means  of  language 
and  we  have  no  opportunity  of  knowing  what  might  be 
possible  to  a  being,  could  such  be  conceived,  who  was 
endowed  with  a  normal  human  mind,  and  yet  incapable 
of  language,  —  of  any  system  of  signs.  But  the  truth 
is,  that  a  speechless  man  —  a  species  of  homo  alalus  — 
is  inconceivable,  because  a  contradiction.  He  would  be 
a  man  destitute  of  an  essential  attribute  of  humanity, 
destitute  not  of  speech  alone,  but  of  that  faculty  of 
thinking  which  realises  and  embodies  itself  in  speech. 
For  thought  and  language  are  completely  interdepend- 


GENERALISATION  247 

ent,  so  that  one  is  impossible  without  the  other.  They 
are  in  fact  to  be  regarded  as  merely  different  aspects 
of  the  same  function.  This  is  indicated  in  a  number 
of  interesting  facts.  (1)  First  of  all,  it  is  strikingly 
embodied  in  the  ambiguity  of  the  Greek  term  X0709. 
This  term  is  applied  equally  to  language  and  to  thought 
or  reason.  Indeed,  Aristotle  distinguishes  explicitly 
the  word  within  (top  eaco  Xoyov)  and  the  word  with- 
out (top  efft)  Xoyov)  as  if  words  were  simply  our  in- 
ternal thoughts  externalised.^  And,  in  truth,  what  is 
a  word  but  a  thought  uttered;  what  is  a  thought  but 
a  word  not  yet  uttered  ?  Apart  from  thought  or  mean- 
ing a  word  is  vox  et  praeterea  nihil;  without  words  our 
thoughts  cannot  come  into  any  definite  existence.  For 
(2),  if  we  seize  a  moment  for  careful  introspection,  we 
shall  find  that  whenever  our  thoughts  attain  any  definite 
form,  they  have  assumed  the  form  of  words.  It  is 
the  words  expressive  of  our  thoughts  that  are  passing 
before  our  consciousness.  Often,  indeed,  when  thought 
is  working  with  unusual  tension,  especially  if  we  are 
alone,  we  cannot  repress  the  impulse  to  gain  vividness 
by  giving  utterance  to  the  words  in  w^hich  our  thought 
finds  embodiment;  and  this  soliloquy  is  described  with 
pithy  significance  as  thinJcing  aloud.^  Even  the  deaf- 
mute  who  has  learned  the  manual  language  is  by  the 
play  of  his  fingers  discovered  at  times  to  be  soliloquising 
in  his  own  fashion.  (3)  But  the  congenital  deaf-mute 
affords  an  additional  proof  of  the  dependence  of  lan- 
guage and  thought  upon  one  another.     For  until  he  is 

*  Anal.  Post.,  I.,  10,  7.     The  distinction  acquired  theological  slgnlfl- 
cance  in  later  speculations  with  regard  to  the  Divine  Logos. 

*  This  Interdependence  of  thought  and  language  Is  the  subject  of  an 
elaborate  monograph  by  Max  Miiller,  The  Science  of  Thought  (1887). 


248  PSYCHOLOGY 

taught  a  language  —  that  is,  a  system  of  symbols  for 
thought  —  he  is  practically  incapable  of  abstraction.^ 
This  places  the  child  born  deaf  at  a  great  disadvantage 
for  his  education,  when  compared  with  a  child  born 
blind.  The  latter  enjoys  from  the  first  all  the  oppor- 
tunities of  the  normal  child  in  learning  the  spoken 
language  in  which  the  generalisations  of  abstract  think- 
ing are  expressed.  The  other,  till  he  is  brought  under 
regular  educational  discipline,  knows  nothing  of  the 
aids  to  abstract  thinking  which  language  supplies,  unless 
it  be  in  such  rude  signs  as  he  may  have  invented  him- 
self or  as  may  have  been  invented  for  him  by  his  friends. 
On  beginning  his  education,  therefore,  he  betrays  the 
intellectual  incapacity  involved  in  the  want  of  language 
by  the  difficulty  of  elevating  his  thoughts  above  the 
region  of  the  concrete.  His  ideas  continue  to  be  merely 
images,  and  when  he  is  taught  class-names  he  is  apt  to 
take  them  as  proper  names  of  the  particular  phenomena 
with  w^hich  they  are  for  the  moment  associated.  Accord- 
ingly the  problem  of  educating  a  congenital  deaf-mute 
presented  peculiar  difficulties  of  a  practical  and  even 
of  a  speculative  kind ;  so  that,  while  in  all  ages  the  blind 
have  furnished  examples  of  high  intellectual  culture, 
congenital  deaf-mutes  have  till  very  modern  times  been 
generally  treated,  in  law  and  in  science,  as  debarred 
froan  entering  into  the  common  intellectual  life  of 
humanity.^ 

This  analysis  shows  that  our  general  reasonings  are 

*  Dr.  Howe's  Reports  on  Laura  Bridgman,  pp.  188-189.  See  also 
Mrs.  Lamson's  Life  and  Education  of  L.  Bridgman,  p.  40;  and  compare 
Tylor's  Introduction  to  Anthropology ,  p.  110. 

2  An  interesting  sketch  of  the  earlier  attempts  to  deal  with  the  prob- 
lem of  educating  deaf-mutes  is  given  in  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  Discussions, 
pp.  176-186. 


generalisatio:n"  249 

exposed  to  a  twofold  danger,  —  one  arising  from  their 
symbolical  nature,  the  other  from  the  fact  that  the 
mental  image  which  represents  a  class  is  necessarily 
the  image  of  an  individual. 

1.    The  fact  that  general  terms  become  to  our  thought 
symbols  of  a  whole  class  of  objects  implies  that  the 
meaning  they  suggest  cannot  be  perpetually  corrected 
by  examining  all  the  individuals  of  the  class.     Now, 
however  closely  such  a  term  may  be  defined,  it  remams 
capable  of  suggesting  more  or  other  meanings  than  that 
to  which  it  is  limited  by  definition;    and  though  we 
may  set  out  with  the  defined  signification,  this  is  apt 
to  be  lost  sight  of  in  the  course  of  a  long  process  of 
reasoning.      This   danger   is   to   a   considerable    extent 
avoided  by  the  coinage  of  a  purely  scientific  nomencla- 
ture; but  in  many  departments  of  thought,  especially 
in  the  mental  and  moral  and  political  sciences,  we  are 
still  largely  exposed  to  all  the  vague  and  vacillating 
suggestions  of  ordinary  language.      In  the  history  of 
psychology  an  interesting  chapter  might  be  written  on 
the  influence  which  has  been  exerted  by  the  figurative 
implications  of  such  terms  as  impression,  affection,  rep- 
resentation, image,  idea. 

2.  In  general  reasonings  the  image  of  an  individual 
stands  before  the  consciousness  as  a  sort  of  mental  dia- 
gram to  represent  its  class.  We  may  begin  a  process 
of  reasoning  with  the  exclusion  of  all  features  of  the  in- 
dividual image  except  those  which  are  common  to  the 
class;  yet  in  course  of  the  process  we  often  find  the 
imagination  lording  it  over  thought,  and  are  pulled 
up  by  some  opponent  objecting  another  individual  or 
other  individuals  to  which  our  reasonings  do  not  apply. 


250  PSYCHOLOGY 

This  is  a  vice  which  perpetually  besets  the  scientific 
inquirer  who  is  not  on  his  guard  against  the  temptation 
to  leap  at  conclusions  after  an  inadequate  induction 
of  particular  facts.  It  is  in  all  minds  the  source  of 
much  of  the  power  wdiich  custom  wields  over  our 
thoughts,  leading  us  to  ascribe  the  characteristics  of  the 
objects  with  wliich  we  are  familiar  to  all  objects  of  the 
same  class,  however  different  their  circumstances  may 
be.  This  tendency  is  therefore  the  peculiar  defect  of 
what  we  might  in  the  largest  sense  call  the  untravelled 
mind. 

"  Homekeeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits."  ^ 

In  all  ages,  therefore,  travel  has  been  recognised  as  a 
powerful  stimulus  to  the  broadening  of  intelligence. 
In  the  ancient  world,  indeed,  at  the  beginning  of  Euro- 
pean culture,  when  there  w^ere  as  yet  no  libraries  or 
other  institutes  of  accumulated  learning,  travel  was 
recognised  as  the  chief  method  of  acquiring  knowledge ; 
and  the  first  use  in  Greek  literature  of  the  compound 
from  which  the  word  philosopher  is  derived  describes 
a  man  who  had  extended  his  knowledge  by  travel.^ 
Even  at  the  present  day,  with  all  our  educational  substi- 
tutes for  this  method  of  culture,  it  is  probable  that  for 
most  men  travel  remains  the  most  effective  safeguard 
against  that  narrow  range  of  intelligence  in  which 

"  They  take  the  rustic  murmur  of  their  bourg 
For  the  great  wave  that  echoes  round  the  world."  ^ 

^  Two  Oentlemen  of  Yerona,  Act  I.,  Scene  1. 

2  Herodotus,  I.,  30. 

8  Tennyson's  The  Marriage  of  OerairU. 


CHAPTER   III. 


REASONING. 


REASONING  is  often  described  as  the  procedure 
of  consciousness  from  individuals  to  the  class 
which  they  form  (Induction),  or  from  a  class  to  an 
individual  or  individuals  that  it  includes  (Deduc- 
tion). It  is  therefore  rather  a  process,  more  or  less 
lengthy,  by  which  an  object  is  comprehended,  than  an 
act  of  inunediate  intuition,  by  which  an  object  is  appre- 
hended. It  follows  from  this,  that  reasoning  cannot 
always  be  precisely  distinguished  either  from  perception 
or  from  generalisation,  just  as  these  cannot  be  precisely 
distinguished  from  one  another.  Every  perception,  as 
implying  a  cognition  of  the  class-attributes  of  the  object 
perceived,  involves  a  reasoning,  commonly  of  the  de- 
ductive sort ;  while  generalisation  is  obviously  the  result 
of  some  mode  of  inductive  reasoning,  however  vague. 
But  in  the  mental  phenomena,  which  we  commonly  speak 
of  as  perceptions  and  generalisations,  the  reasoning 
process  becomes  unconscious,  being  absorbed  in  its 
products.  It  may  therefore  be  studied  to  more  advan- 
tage in  those  conscious  efforts  of  intelligence  to  which 
the  name  of  reasoning  is  in  a  stricter  sense  confined. 
But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  in  actual  mental  life 
conscious   and   unconscious   reasonings   can   be   always 


252  PSYCHOLOGY 

distingnishecl  with  exactness.  In  the  daily  conscious- 
ness of  every  man  there  are  numerous  acts  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  refer  exclusively  to  either  class. 

In  analysing  the  process  of  reasoning,  it  is  important 
to  keep  in  view  the  distinction  between  the  psychology 
of  the  reasoning  process  and  the  science  of  logic. 
Psychology,  as  the  science  of  mental  facts,  details  the 
steps  which  reasoning  follows  in  actual  life  with  all 
its  comic  and  tragic  inaccuracies.  Logic,  on  the  other 
hand,  belongs  to  that  class  of  sciences  which,  as  dealing 
with  law^s  that  must  be  observed  in  order  to  the  attain- 
ment of  a  certain  end,  have  been  appropriately  styled 
normal  sciences.  Every  sphere  of  mental  life,  in  fact, 
may  have  a  normal  science  of  its  own  according  to  the 
end  which  it  is  designed  to  subserve.  Thus  we  point 
an  end  to  our  sensitive  life  in  such  studies  as  those  of 
gastronomy,  perfumery,  music,  the  theory  of  colours; 
while  the  higher  activities  find  their  norm  in  mechanics, 
aisthetics,  ethics,  politics.  In  the  same  way,  then,  as 
the  psychology  of  the  moral  life  is  distinguished  from 
ethics,  or  the  psychology  of  calculation  from  arithmetic, 
the  psychology  of  reasoning  ought  to  be  kept  apart  from 
logic.-^ 

Actual,  as  distinguished  from  logical,  reasoning  is 
manifold.  It  commences  perhaps  with  the  movement 
from  particulars  to  particulars,  if  this  be  not  mere  unre- 
flective  association,  and  then  develops  into  the  reflect- 
ive,  or   at   least  more   reflective,   movements  from   the 


*  Sometimes,  it  may  be  furtiier  observed,  psychology,  and  logic  also, 
are  confounded  with  philosophy,  as  in  the  discussion  by  psychologists 
and  logicians  of  the  question  regarding  "  the  ultimate  postulate,"  "  the 
fundamental  axiom,"  which  in  the  last  analysis  forms  the  criterion  or 
warrant  of  all  thinking,  of  all  science. 


KExiSOJ^ING  253 

particular  to  the  general,  from  the  general  to  the  par- 
ticular. To  determine  the  warrant  for  such  inferences 
is  the  function  of  logic;  but  the  theory  of  the  fallacies, 
which  always  forms  a  prominent  part  of  that  science, 
shows  how  the  actual  movements  of  thought  are  often 
regardless  of  logical  warrant. 

There  are  three  factors  of  the  reasoning  process  which 
have  been  usually  distinguished  by  psychologists  and 
logicians.  The  first  is  the  object  reasoned  about;  the 
second,  the  predication  to  which  the  reasoning  process 
leads  in  reference  to  that  object;  the  third,  the  process 
itself  by  which  the  predication  is  established.  We  shall 
take  these  factors  in  separate  sections. 

§  1.  —  Conception. 

The  mental  act  by  which  an  object  of  thought  is 
formed  was  commonly  named,  in  the  old  logical  text- 
books, simple  apprehension;  but  by  many  logicians  it 
is  more  appropriately  called  conception.  The  word 
conception,  like  comprehension,  signifies  literally  grasp- 
ing together,  and  is  therefore  an  appropriate  name  for 
any  kind  of  knowledge  which  is  obtained  by  gathering 
many  into  one.  Such  an  act  of  knowledge  may  be 
accomplished  either  by  mentally  grouping  into  one  class 
a  nmnber  of  different  individuals  on  the  ground  of  their 
possessing  some  common  property  or  properties,  or  by 
associating  a  number  of  different  properties  on  the 
ground  of  their  belonging  in  common  to  the  same  indi- 
vidual or  the  same  class. 

The  object  of  consciousness  in  a  conception  —  that 
which  is  conceived  —  is  called,  in  the  technical  language 


254  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  logic,  a  concept;  and  the  word  or  combination  of 
words  expressing  a  concept  is  called  a  term. 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  a  term,  as  expressing  a 
concept,  may  be  viewed  in  various  aspects.  For  a  con- 
cept, as  just  explained,  is  either  a  combination  of 
individuals  forming  a  class,  or  a  combination  of  prop- 
erties belonging  to  an  individual  or  to  a  class.  The 
former  combination  constitutes  what  is  called  the  exten- 
sion of  a  concept  or  of  the  term  expressing  it ;  the  latter 
combination  is  called  intension.  Consequently  a  term 
may  be,  and  in  thought  actually  is  at  different  times, 
interpreted  in  reference  to  both  of  these  aspects.  Thus 
the  term  man  to  different  minds,  or  even  to  the  same 
mind  at  different  times,  may  mean  either  the  individuals 
who  compose  the  human  race  or  the  attributes  that  con- 
stitute human  nature.  It  has  also  been  made  a  subject 
of  discussion,  whether  terms  are  the  names  of  things 
or  merely  of  our  ideas  of  things.-^ 

In  all  such  discussions  confusion  is  apt  to  arise  from 
failure  to  distinguish  the  logical  and  the  psychological 
aspects  of  the  question  at  issue.  The  logician,  dealing 
with  the  laws  which  must  be  observed  for  the  sake  of 
accurate  thinking,  may  select  one  aspect  of  terms  as  that 
which  is  most  suitable  for  the  end  he  has  in  view.  But 
his  selection  does  not  foreclose  the  cognate  psychological 
question:  it  does  not  imply  that  the  aspect  selected  is 
the  only  possible  aspect  in  which  terms  may  be  inter- 
preted, or  even  that  it  is  the  most  common  interpreta- 
tion put  upon  terms  in  the  confused  and  blundering 
thoughts  that  make  up  the  daily  mental  life  of  men.  On 
the  contrary,  whatever  interpretation  of  terms  may  be 

1  Mill's  Logic,  Book  I.,  Chap.  II.,  §  2. 


KEASONING  255 

considered  most  convenient  for  logical  thinking,  it  re- 
mains a  fact,  which  the  psychologist  cannot  ignore,  that 
the  aspect  in  which  a  term  is  viewed  may  vary  with  the 
attitude  of  the  mind.  Mr.  Mill  holds  that  terms  prop- 
erly denote  things  rather  than  merely  our  ideas  of 
things,^  and  with  certain  explanations  his  theory  is 
correct ;  for  thought  would  fail  in  its  function  if  it  did 
not  take  us  beyond  its  owti  subjective  operations,  if  it 
did  not  construe  for  us  an  objective  world  of  things. 
But  the  explanations  which  ought  to  accompany  this 
statement  take  us  into  the  sphere  of  ontology.  Mill  is 
led  into  the  ontological  question  which  his  statement 
suggests,  and  it  is  worth  noting  that  his  statement  is 
nearly  eviscerated  of  its  meaning  by  his  doctrine  as  to 
what  constitutes  a  thing.^ 

All  our  concepts,  whether  they  represent  perceptions 
of  individuals  or  generalisations,  imply,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  reasonings  more  or  less  unconscious.  Our 
intellectual  life  begins  with  unreflective  reasonings,  and 
the  concepts  thus  reached  form  the  starting-point  of 
more  reflective  reasonings,  by  which  the  obscure  and 
uncertain  and  limited  results  of  unreflective  reasoning 
are  developed  and  confirmed  and  extended. 

§  2.  —  Judgment, 

An  object  of  thought  —  a  concept  —  is  usually,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  combination  of  attributes.  But  of  course 
all  the  attributes  of  an  object  are  not  within  the  knowl- 
edge of  every  intelligence,  and  even  when  they  have 

»  Mill's  Logic,  Book  I..  Chap.  II.,  §  2. 
»  Ihid.,  Book   I.,   Chap.   III.,  §§  13-15. 


256  PSYCHOLOGY 

become  familiar  to  any  intelligence,  are  not  always 
present  to  his  consciousness.  He  may  have  learnt,  for 
example,  all  the  properties  by  which  a  particular  species 
of  animals,  vegetables,  or  minerals  is  characterised ;  but 
in  his  ordinary  thoughts  these  properties  are  seldom  all 
consciously  recalled.  Take,  by  way  of  illustration,  any 
plant  with  its  peculiar  corolla,  calyx,  and  leaf,  the  num- 
ber of  its  petals,  sepals,  pistils,  and  stamens,  as  well  as 
other  facts  in  reference  to  its  organisation,  its  growth,  or 
its  geographical  distribution.  Even  the  simpler  consti- 
tution of  a  mineral  does  not  exclude  a  multiplicity  of 
properties,  geometrical,  physical,  and  chemical,  not  to 
speak  of  its  adventitious  aesthetic  or  commercial  uses. 
Thus  gold  is  distinguishable  from  other  minerals  by  no 
less  than  eight  different  properties.  Then,  when  we 
come  to  the  more  complicated  concepts  of  biology  and 
psychology,  of  ethics  and  politics,  —  life,  thought, 
beauty,  conscience,  right,  and  many  others  of  a  similar 
nature,  —  we  find  not  only  that  our  concepts  usually 
exhibit  a  very  incomplete  grasp  of  all  the  factors  im- 
plied, but  a  very  indefinite  apprehension  even  of  those 
which  are  conceived. 

Our  concepts  are  therefore  ordinarily  of  a  somewhat 
indefinite  character,  l^ow,  when  an  ordinary  indefinite 
concept  becomes  defined  by  attributing  to  it  some 
quality,  our  thought  assumes  the  form  that  is  technically 
called  a  judgment,  the  indefinite  concept  being  the  sub- 
jecty  and  the  defining  quality  the  predicate.  When,  for 
example,  to  the  indefinite  concept  of  gold  as  a  yellow 
metal  I  add  the  predicate  that  it  is  the  most  malleable 
of  all  metals,  or  that  it  is  fusible  in  a  mixture  of  nitric 
and  hydrochloric  acids,  I  form  a  judgment  about  the 


REASONING  257 

subject  gold.  It  is  scarcely  necessary,  therefore,  to  add 
that  judgments  cannot  by  a  rigid  line  be  separated  from 
concepts:  the  judgment  is  in  fact  simply  the  concept 
unfolding  itself  to  clearer  definition. 

Of  judgments  some  are  formed  by  simply  evolv- 
ing the  meaning  involved  in  the  subject.  Thus,  when  I 
say,  A  quadruped  is  a  four-footed  animal,  the  predicate 
of  four-footedness  merely  unfolds  the  idea  implied  in 
the  subject.  Such  judgments  have  accordingly  been 
called  analytic,  explicative,  verbal,  essential.  On  the 
other  hand,  judgments  which  add  to  the  idea  implied 
in  the  subject  are  called  synthetic,  ampliative,  real, 
accidental.^ 

Explicative  judgments  are  dismissed  by  some  writers 
as  useless  fictions.^  But  this  extreme  depreciation  of 
such  judgments  overlooks  their  real  nature.  To  most 
minds  the  ordinary  subjects  of  thought  are  indefinite 
concepts  which  require  explication;  and  such  explica- 
tion is  rendered  all  the  more  necessary  from  the  fact  that 
most  of  the  terms  in  common  use  have  wandered  so  far 
from  their  primitive  meaning  that  their  etymology  no 
longer  reveals  their  full  connotation.  Still,  this  very 
fact  implies  that  the  distinction  between  analytic  and 
synthetic  judgments  is  one  that  cannot  always  be  carried 
out.    For  when  the  etymology  of  a  term  does  not  reveal 

*  Some  writers,  like  Thomson  (Outline  of  the  Laws  of  Thought, %  81), 
distinguish  as  a  separate  class  tautoloyous  judgments,  in  which  a  term 
is  simply  predicated  of  itself,  as  in  Facts  are  facts,  A  man's  a  man. 
By  writers  of  the  school  of  Locke  such  judgments  are  described  by  the 
name  identical,  and  are  commonly  dismissed  as  frivolous.  See  Locke's 
Essay,  Part  IV.,  Chap.  VIIL,  §§  2-3.  Thomson,  indeed,  recognises  the 
fact  that  such  judgments  may  "become  charged  with  meaning  by  some 
particular  emphasis.  But  he  is  mistaken  in  regarding  that  as  accidental 
to  them  ;  it  is  rather  their  essential   and  ordinary  use. 

2  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  Part  IV.,  Chap.  VIII., 
§§  4-10 ;  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  Book  I.,  Chap.  VI. 

17 


258  PSYCHOLOGY 

its  connotation,  any  factor  of  the  connotation  may  con- 
stitute a  synthetic  judgment;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  a  scientific  thinker  has  mastered  the  complete  con- 
notation of  a  subject,  it  might  be  said  that  for  him  every 
judgment  about  it  must  be  merely  analytic.  It  some- 
times happens,  however,  that  a  concept,  in  its  general 
attributes  perfectly  definite,  receives  some  particular 
qualification,  as  when  a  w^ell-known  mineral  or  vegetable 
is  said  to  be  applied  to  certain  adventitious  uses,  or  when 
an  accidental  action  or  state  is  ascribed  to  any  person. 

From  this  it  appears  that  subjects  admit  of  various 
sorts  of  predicates.  The  classification  of  these  is  the 
object  of  the  logical  doctrine  of  predicables,  the  term 
predicahle  being  employed  for  any  word  that  is  capable 
of  being  used  as  a  predicate.  This  doctrine  is  of  special 
interest  to  the  logician  for  the  sake  of  that  accuracy  in 
thinking  at  which  he  aims;  for  to  attain  that  end  it  is 
indispensable  to  know  precisely  the  relation  of  the  predi- 
cate to  the  subject  of  a  judgment.  But  the  classifica- 
tion of  predicables  is  not  of  the  same  importance  to 
the  psychologist.  Connected  with  this  subject,  however, 
there  is  a  general  question  which  does  possess  psycho- 
logical interest,  —  the  question,  namely,  as  to  the  import 
of  a  judgment  or  proposition.  In  the  preceding  section 
it  was  sho"svn  that  a  similar  question  is  discussed  in 
reference  to  the  import  of  terms,  and  it  was  there 
explained  that  a  term  may  be  interpreted  from  different 
points  of  view.  The  same  points  of  view  also  affect  the 
import  attached  to  propositions.  For  example,  we  may 
consider  mainly  either  the  extension  or  the  intension  of 
a  predicate,  and  this  difference  will  alter  the  mode  in 
which  we  interpret  its  relation  to  the  subject.     In  fact, 


REASONING  259 

an  alteration  in  the  form  of  expression  will  often  give 
prominence  to  the  one  of  these  views  over  the  other. 
Thus,  if  I  say  The  ornithorynchus  is  a  quadruped,  I 
naturally  think  of  this  animal  as  belonging  to  the  class 
of  quadrupeds;  that  is  to  say,  I  interpret  the  proposi- 
tion as  meaning  that  the  subject  is  included  within  the 
extension  of  the  predicate.  ^Mien  I  vary  the  expression 
into  The  ornithorynchus  is  four-footed,  I  think  rather 
of  four-footedness  as  forming  one  of  the  attributes  of  the 
animal ;  that  is,  the  predicate  is  conceived  as  being  in- 
cluded in  the  intension  of  the  subject. 

In  consequence  of  the  various  aspects  in  which  it  thus 
appears  that  a  proposition  may  be  viewed,  a  good  deal  of 
controversy  has  been  excited  regarding  the  real  import 
of  propositions.  Mr.  Mill  devotes  considerable  space  to 
the  criticism  of  various  theories  on  this  subject.^  He 
opposes  the  doctrines  that  a  proposition  expresses  a 
relation  between  two  ideas,  or  between  the  meanings  of 
two  terms,  or  that  it  refers  something  to,  or  excludes 
something  from,  a  class;  and  in  accordance  with  his 
theory  of  the  import  of  terms,  he  holds  that  a  proposi- 
tion is  to  be  interpreted  as  meaning  that  the  things  de- 
noted by  the  subject  possess  the  attributes  connoted  by 
the  predicate. 

InTow  in  all  such  discussions,  as  in  the  similar  discus- 
sions with  reference  to  the  import  of  terms,  consider- 
able confusion  arises  from  allowing  the  inquiry  of  the 
logician  to  run  into  the  field  of  psychology.  The  prob- 
lem of  logic  is  to  find  out  what  is  the  aspect  in  which  a 
proposition  should  be  treated  with  the  view  of  securing 
the  greatest  accuracy  of  thought  in  its  use.     But  the 

*  Byatem  of  Logic,  Book  I.,   Chap.  V. 


260  PSYCHOLOGY 

import  attached  to  propositions  for  logical  purposes  is 
not  necessarily  supposed  to  be  that  of  which  alone  they 
admit,  or  even  to  be  the  interpretation  most  commonly 
put  u2:>ou  them  in  the  confused  thinking  of  ordinary 
mental  life. 

§  3.  —  Reasoning  Proper. 

When  a  judgment  is  analytic,  it  must  be  evident  to 
every  one  who  understands  its  terms,  its  evidence  is  con- 
tained in  its  own  terms,  in  itself;  it  is  therefore  called 
self-evident.  Whether  any  synthetic  judgments  also  are 
self-evident  is  a  question  that  need  not  be  discussed 
here.  It  is  admitted  that  a  vast  proportion  of  our  judg- 
ments do  not  contain  their  evidence  in  themselves ;  their 
evidence  must  therefore  be  sought  outside. 

Now  a  judgment  is  a  relation  of  two  concepts,  —  of 
two  things  conceived ;  and  when  that  relation  is  in  itself 
unknowm,  it  must  be  reached  from  some  other  relation 
that  is  known.  The  process  by  which  this  is  reached 
is  called  reasoning  or  inference,  in  the  stricter  sense  of 
these  terms.  It  is  this  process  that  is  now  to  be  analysed. 
In  order  to  this  analysis  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the 
process  implies  (1)  an  unknown  relation,  (2)  a  relation 
that  is  known,  (3)  a  transition  from  the  latter  to  the 
former  relation.  'Now  such  a  transition  of  thought  must 
consist  in  the  conscious  comparison  of  the  two  relations. 
The  analysis  may  be  rendered  clearer  by  a  few  exposi- 
tory observations. 

I.  Reasoning  is  thus  seen  to  be  in  its  essential  nature 
merely  the  universal  process  of  intelligence,  —  compari- 
son, with  association  of  course  implied.  Objects  — 
materials  —  therefore  form  fit   data  for  reasoning  in 


REASONING  261 

proportion  to  their  fitness  for  the  uses  of  intelligence  in 
general,  —  in  proportion  to  their  comparability,  that  is, 
the  ease  with  which  their  relations  are  discoverable. 
Now  no  relations  are  so  obvious,  so  distinctly  apprehen- 
sible, so  measurable  J  as  those  relations  of  mutual  exter- 
nality which  constitute  space,  and  therefore  geometry 
was  the  earliest  science  to  attain  exactness  of  reasoning. 
Based  on  the  concept  of  space  is  the  concept  of  quantity 
in  general,  and  the  relations  of  quantities  are  among  the 
most  easily  comparable.  Accordingly,  not  only  have 
the  sciences  of  abstract  quantity  —  arithmetic  and 
algebra  —  long  ago  attained  exactness,  but  other  sciences 
become  exact  precisely  in  so  far  as  their  reasonings  take 
the  form  of  quantitative  calculations. 

II.  Since  it  thus  appears  that  reasoning  is  essentially 
identical  with  the  universal  process  of  intelligence,  it 
must  have  a  certain  affinity  with  those  other  forms  of 
intelligence,  the  ordinary  perceptions  and  generalisa- 
tions, which  have  been  analysed  in  the  immediately  pre- 
ceding chapters.  Still,  there  is  of  course  also  a  certain 
difference  between  either  of  these  forms  of  intelligence 
and  reasoning.  That  difference  consists  in  the  fact 
that  reasoning  is  a  more  complicated  comparison.  The 
superior  complication  of  reasoning  may  be  expressed  by 
saying  that  it  is  not,  like  judgment,  a  comparison  of 
concepts,  but  a  comparison  of  judgments.  This  analysis 
of  reasoning  has  perhaps  never  been  more  clearly 
expounded  than  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  who  describes 
the  process  as  a  comparison,  not  of  terms,  but  of 
relations.-^     Of  course  this  description  is  not  sufficient 

^  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  VI.,  Chaps.  II. -VIII.   The  doctrine  la 

perhaps  foreshadowed  by  Ilobbes.  See,  besides  his  Computation,  the 
Leviathan,  p.  30   (Molesworth's  ed.). 


262  PSYCHOLOGY 

always  to  distinguish  reasoning  from  judgment,  or  even 
from  conception;  for  these  are  often  the  results  of 
reasoning.  Still,  reflective  reasoning  implies  previous 
concepts  and  judgments,  even  if,  as  when  they  are 
general,  they  have  been  formed  by  previous  reasonings, 
reflective  or  unreflective. 

From  this  it  follows  that  the  account  of  the  reasoning 
process  given  by  logicians  cannot  be  taken  as  a  psycho- 
logical analysis.  In  the  common  text-books  on  logic 
reasoning  is  described  as  a  comparison  of  two  terms  with 
a  third  in  order  to  their  comparison  with  one  another. 
]^ow  for  logical  purposes  such  a  description  may  be 
convenient  and  useful.  That  is  a  question  which  the 
psychologist  need  not  discuss.  But  no  psychological 
analysis  would  completely  exhibit  the  nature  of  reasoning 
which  did  not  point  out  that  it  implies  a  comparison  of 
two  relations  or  judgments.  Then  the  premisses  are  to 
be  regarded  as  representing  the  two  relations,  and  the 
conclusion  in  reality  expresses  their  relation  or  com- 
parison. To  illustrate,  let  us  exhibit  the  syllogism 
under  the  form  which  it  would  take  from  this  analysis. 
Let  P  z=  major  term,  S  =  minor  term,  and  M  =  middle 
term.  Then  the  following  formula  would  represent  a 
syllogism  in  the  first  figure :  — 

M  is  P, 
S   isM, 
.'.  S   is  P. 

This,  according  to  the  above  analysis,  would  run  into 
the  more  complete  formula :  — 

S  :  M  :  :  M  :  P ; 


KEASONIXG  263 

and  that,  of  course,  is  equivalent  to 

S  :  M  =  M  :  F. 

If  the  syllogism  were  negative,  as 

M  is  not  P, 
SisM, 
.*.  S  is  not  P, 

then  the  relation  of  S :  M  would  be  represented  as 
unequal  to  the  relation  of  M :  P. 

This  will  perhaps  be  clearer  in  the  case  of  quantita- 
tive reasonings.  Take  therefore  a  very  simple  algebrai- 
cal process : — 

Ax +  2    =  3:r  +  4     (1) 

.-.  4a;  -  3x  =  4  -  2      (2) 

.'.x  =  2  (3) 

Here  it  is  evident  that  the  operation  is  a  procedure  in 
thought  from  (1)  to  (2)  and  from  (2)  to  (3).  Each  of 
these  three  stages  in  the  procedure,  however,  is  an  equa- 
tion,—  that  is,  a  relation  or  judgment  of  equality; 
and  the  procedure  from  one  to  another  involves  the  com- 
parison of  each  with  that  to  which  it  leads.  The  reason- 
ing therefore  in  this  instance,  if  fully  expressed,  would 
run  thus :  — 

(Ax  -f  2)  :  (3cc  -H  4)  :  :  (ix  -  3x)  :  (4  -  2), 
and 

(4a;  -3x)  :  (4.-2)  ::x:  2. 

This  simple  operation  may  be  taken  as  a  type  of  quan- 
titative reasonings  in  general,  for  the  most  elaborate  cal- 
culations are  simply  a  lengthening  out  of  the  same 
process.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  all  quantitative 
reasonings,  in  applied  as  well  as  in  pure  mathematics, 
involve  a  similar  comparison  of  equations  more  or  less 


264  PSYCHOLOGY 

numerous.  Eut  quantitative  reasonings  differ  from 
others  only  in  the  fact  that  they  exhibit  the  reasoning 
process  with  the  great  advantage  of  absolutely  exact 
terms;  and  consequently  all  reasoning  is  analysed  into 
a  comparison,  not  of  terms  merely,  but  of  judgments. 

III.  All  the  varieties  of  the  reasoning  process  are 
usually  regarded  as  modifications  of  two  fundamental 
types,  —  one  proceeding  from  the  general  to  the  partic- 
ular, and  called  Deduction ;  the  other,  from  the  partic- 
ular to  the  general,  and  called  Induction.  But  some 
recent  writers,  following  Mr.  Mill,^  recognise  an  infer- 
ence from  particulars  to  particulars,  maintaining  even, 
at  times,  that  all  reasoning  is  of  this  nature.  JSTow  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  a  procedure  of  this  sort 
does  occur  in  consciousness.  It  may  even  be  admitted 
that  it  is  probably  more  common  than  a  definite  ascent 
to  the  general,  or  a  definite  descent  to  the  particular. 
Take,  for  illustration,  one  of  Mr.  Mill's  own  examples, 
the  reasoning  implied  in  the  proverb  that  "  a  burnt  child 
dreads  the  fire."  It  is  well  known  that  one  or  two 
experiences  are  sufficient  to  associate  in  a  child's  mind 
the  appearance  of  a  fire  with  the  painful  sensation  of 
burning,  and  that  any  subsequent  sight  of  the  fire  will 
probably  suggest  the  thought  that  the  touch  of  the  fire 
will  be  followed  by  the  former  pain.  Any  of  the  more 
intelligent  among  the  lower  animals  can  go  through  this 
process. 

The  actuality  of  such  a  mental  process,  then,  is  not  a 
matter  of  doubt.  The  only  question  is  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  calling  it  reasoning.  It  may  appear  at  first  as 
if  this  were  merely  a  question  of  words ;  but,  as  in  many 

*  System  of  Logic,  Book  II.,  Chap.  III.,  §  3. 


REASONIIsTG  265 

similar  cases,  a  failure  to  distinguish  by  different  terms 
plienomena  that  have  only  a  superficial  resemblance  may 
lead  to  serious  confusion  of  thought.  Here  there  is  an 
essential  difference  between  the  mental  processes  that 
would  be  included  under  one  term.  In  one  process  a 
fact  is  simply  suggested  by  another  fact  in  accordance 
with  the  unconsciously  operating  laws  of  association ; 
in  the  other  process  a  fact  is  thought  as  founded  on  a 
certain  reason.  The  latter  is  appropriately  called  rea- 
soning because  it  is  the  consciousness  of  a  reason. 
Whether  the  former  —  the  mere  suggestion  —  should 
also  be  called  reasoning  may  not  be  considered  a  ques- 
tion of  prime  importance,  but  it  is  certainly  important 
to  distinguish  in  some  unmistakable  way  processes  so 
essentially  different  as  those  described.  Mr.  Mill  him- 
self explains  that  whenever  the  reason  of  proceeding 
from  particulars  to  particulars  is  sought,  that  reason  is 
to  be  found  in  a  general  proposition  with  reference  to 
the  whole  class  of  phenomena  to  which  the  particulars 
belong;  and  it  is  more  in  accordance  with  the  use  of 
language,  as  well  as  more  convenient  for  scientific  pur- 
poses, to  restrict  the  term  reasoning  to  those  transitions 
of  consciousness  in  which  a  reason  for  the  transition 
is  thought.  Consequently,  when  any  reasonings  are 
spoken  of  as  unreflective,  this  expression  must  be  under- 
stood in  a  qualified  sense.  When  any  process  which 
stimulates  reasoning  is  absolutely  unreflective,  —  when 
it  is  a  simple  transition  of  consciousness  without  any 
reflection  on  its  reason,  —  it  ought,  in  psychological 
analysis,  to  be  degraded  to  a  mere  suggestion.-^ 

'  The  distinction  here  drawn  Is  very  clearly  explained  in  Leibnitz's 
Nouveaux  Essais,  II.,  11,  §  11.  In  rej^ard  to  older  doctrines,  extending 
bade  to  Aristotle,  the  student  will  find  curious  information  in  Hamil- 
ton's edition  of  Reid's  Works,  p.  909,  note  t. 


2G6  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  common  distinction  between  Deductive  and  In- 
ductive Reasonings  may  therefore  be  retained  and  more 
closely  examined. 

1.  Deduction  is  not,  as  often  represented,  a  mere 
petitio  principii.  It  is  that  process  of  thought  in  which 
the  reason  of  a  particular  fact  is  found  in  a  general  fact, 
—  that  is,  in  a  whole  class  of  facts  in  which  the  partic- 
ular fact  is  contained.  The  mistake  of  representing 
this  as  a  mere  begging  of  the  question  has  probably 
arisen  from  the  supposition  that  the  general  reason 
must  be,  or  usually  is,  thought  before  the  particular 
fact.  This  supposition  itself  may  have  its  origin  in 
the  confusion  between  the  artificial  formulae  of  logic 
and  the  natural  processes  of  consciousness.  Commonly 
at  the  present  day  logicians  state  the  parts  of  a  syllo- 
gism in  the  order  of  Major  Premiss,  Minor  Premiss, 
Conclusion;  and  for  logical  accuracy  this  may  be  a 
proper  artifice.  But  even  among  logicians  this  order 
has  not  been  always  maintained ;  ^  and  no  philosophical 
logician  holds  that  that  is  the  order  in  w^hich  alone 
men  can  think  or  in  which  alone  they  actually  do  think. 

Deduction,  then,  is  a  real  process  of  intelligence,  even 
though  its  chronological  procedure  may  usually  be  from 
particular  fact  to  general  reason.  Its  possibility  and 
its  actuality  arise  from  the  same  cause  as  the  possibility 
and  actuality  of  judgments,  namely,  because  we  do 
not  always  think  explicitly  all  that  is  implicitly  involved 
in  our  thought.  A  deduction  simply  unfolds  to  con- 
sciousness what  consciousness  may  not  have  previously 
realised  as  part  of  the  extension  or  of  the  intension  of 
a  concept;  and  the  deduction  may  often  be  of  incal- 

^  See  Hamilton's  Lectures  on  Logic,  Appendix  X. 


REASOKIXG  2G7 

culable  theoretical  or  practical  importance.  For, 
though  it  is  common  to  make  fun  of  the  stock-example 
in  logical  text-books,  ''  All  men  are  mortal :  Ca?sar  is 
a  man ;  and  therefore  Caisar  is  mortal,"  yet  it  is  often 
a  crisis  of  unutterable  meaning  in  the  mental  life  of  a 
man  when  he  substitutes  for  the  mere  symbol  Cmar, 
father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  friend,  and  for  the  first 
time  the  thought  flashes  into  consciousness  that  one  of 
these  must  die,  since  all  men  do. 

2.  Induction  is  properly  that  process  in  which  the 
reason  of  a  general  proposition  is  thought  to  be  the 
observations  made  in  reference  to  the  particulars  which 
the  proposition  includes.  In  actual  conscious  life  this 
process  admits  of  numerous  varieties  in  its  stages ;  and 
the  norm  by  which  it  ought  to  be  governed  in  order 
to  guard  against  error  forms  the  subject  of  Inductive 

Logic. 

Though  Induction  and  Deduction  are  thus  distin- 
guished for  scientific  purposes,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  they  always,  or  even  commonly,  exist  apart  in 
actual  thinking.  Not  only  is  the  intermingling  of  the 
two  processes  evident  to  psychological  observation,  but 
the  logician  also  recognises  Deduction  as  playing  an 
indispensable  part  in  most  of  the  processes  by  which 
general  truths  are  established,  even  if  the  philosopher 
does  not  claim  that  every  Induction  is  based  on  some 
primal  Deduction. 

Before  leaving  this  subject  it  is  well  to  remember 
that  reasoning  is  but  a  limited  part  of  mental  life,  — 
that  it  forms  only  one,  and  that  often  a  minor,  factor 
of  the  whole  mental  process  by  which  our  convictions 
are  formed.     Every  reflective  thinker,  on  taking  stock 


268  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  his  convictions,  finds  that  he  has  reached  some,  and 
gro\\Ti  out  of  others,  without  being  conscious,  or  at 
least  fully  conscious,  of  the  process.  Sometimes,  in- 
deed, the  scientific  mind,  dealing  with  purely  quanti- 
tative abstractions,  may  escape  the  bias  of  mental 
influences  extraneous  to  the  logical  process,  and  reason 
out  conclusions  with  mechanical  exactness.  Indeed,  cal- 
culating machines  are  now  in  common  use  which  work 
out  their  results  with  unerring  accuracy  and  with  no 
more  fatigue  to  the  brain  than  is  required  for  intel- 
ligent handling  of  the  machine.  Attempts  have  been 
made  to  extend  this  logical  mechanism  into  other  realms 
of  thought,  to  reduce  all  reasoning  to  the  mechanical 
exactness  of  quantitative  calculation.  In  the  history 
of  such  attempts  a  prominent  place  is  occupied  by 
De  Morgan's  Formal  Logic  (1847)  and  Boole's  Laws  of 
Thought  (1854).  But  the  late  Professor  Jevons,  in 
his  Principles  of  Science  (1874),  has  gone  so  far  as 
to  invent  a  logical  machine  which  is  intended  to  per- 
form for  "  the  simple  science  of  qualitative  reasoning  " 
what  calculating  machines  have  done  for  "  the  more 
intricate  science  of  quantity.'' 

These  attempts,  however,  belong  to  logic  rather  than 
psychology.  Whatever  their  value,  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten, in  the  science  of  scientific  method,  that  the  pro- 
cess by  which  a  scientific  theory  is  verified  or  proved 
is  not  necessarily,  is  perhaps  never,  the  process  by 
which  it  has  been  discovered.  It  is  however  a  common 
defect  in  systems  of  logic  to  assume  that  by  a  methodical 
collection  and  arrangement  of  observations  new  scien- 
tific truths  will  leap  to  light  with  the  certainty  with 
which  mechanical  effects  are  produced  by  the  operation 


KEASONING  269 

of  a  machine;  but  this  is  an  anticipation  as  illusory 
as  that  which  expects  that  by  industrious  observance 
of  certain  rules  of  art  any  mind  may  produce  a  great 
poem  or  a  great  painting  or  a  great  composition  in 
music.  Even  in  the  common  reasonings  of  daily  life 
psychological  observation  will  show  that  the  arguments 
by  which  men  defend  their  convictions  are  for  the  most 
part  afterthoughts.  ]^or  is  it  by  any  means  a  matter 
of  unmitigated  regret  that  the  convictions  of  men  are 
not  formed  by  abstract  reasoning,  to  the  exclusion  of 
other  mental  processes.  The  interests  of  the  higher 
life  call  for  the  play  of  other  forces  than  sheer  logical 
necessity.  For  the  vocation  of  man  is  not  merely  to 
think,  however  accurately,  but  to  act;  and  for  the  pur- 
poses of  action  convictions  are  of  little  value  when  they 
represent  only  an  intellectual  process,  and  do  not  carry 
with  them  the  emotions  and  the  will.  Ethical  and 
religious  writers  have  in  fact  found  it  necessary  to 
distinguish  those  impotent  beliefs  which  seem  to  imply 
merely  intellectual  assent  to  a  truth  from  that  living 
faith  which  commands  the  consent  of  the  believer's 
whole  nature;  and  the  wisest  teachers  have  ever  been 
chary  about  mere  proselytising,  about  any  change  of 
opinion  w^hich  does  not  indicate  a  deeper  change  of 
personal  character. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IDEALISATION. 

THE  term  Idealisation  is  here  employed  to  desig- 
nate the  latest  and  fullest  outgrowth  of  intellec- 
tual life,  in  which  the  earlier  and  simpler  activities 
culminate.  It  is  not  indeed  to  be  regarded  as  sharply 
separable  from  these  in  the  actual  operations  of  the 
mind,  any  more  than  these  are  always  separable  from 
one  another.  In  the  evolution  of  these  activities  the  sim- 
pler forms  of  idealisation  are  perpetually  anticipated; 
but  it  implies  something  which  is  not  explicitly  exercised 
in  these,  and  represents  in  its  maturer  developments  the 
highest  reaches  of  intelligence.  After  attaining  percep- 
tions of  the  individual  and  conceptions  of  the  general, 
after  ratiocinative  transitions  from  one  to  the  other, 
intelligence  learns  to  combine  in  one  cognition  both  of 
these  products  of  its  activity;  the  individual  becomes 
transfigured  with  a  higher  glory  by  being  viewed  as  the 
exponent  of  general  laws,  while  these  lose  their  dead 
abstractness  by  being  seen  in  the  concrete  particulars, 
in  which  alone  they  have  any  living  reality. 

The  use  of  the  term  idealisation  to  express  this 
activity  of  intelligence  may  be  explained  by  reference 
to  its  original  meaning.  Idealisation  is  literally  the 
formation  of  an  ideal.  !Now  an  ideal  is  an  object 
which  receives  its  determinate  character  from  an  idea, 
as  this  term  is  understood  in  its  earlier  and  higher 


IDEALISATION  271 

signification.*  But  in  this  signification  idea  means  the 
general  concept  which,  in  the  Platonic  philosophy 
especially,  was  supposed  to  constitute  the  real  essence 
of  every  individual  in  a  class.  An  ideal  is  therefore 
an  object  which  is  thought  as  an  embodiment,  not  of 
particular  accidents,  but  of  universal  principles. 

Accordingly  such  an  object  implies  the  prior  forma- 
tion of  the  general  concept  which  it  embodies.  The 
general  concept  is  the  end  which  the  intelligence  seeks 
to  realise  in  determining  the  ideal  object.  But  the  object 
thus  aimed  at  is  various,  and  it  varies  in  accordance 
with  the  various  activities  of  intelligence  of  which  it 
is  the  end.  These  activities  may  be  purely  speculative, 
concerned  merely  in  the  exercise  of  intellect;  or  they 
may  be  aesthetic,  concerned  primarily  with  the  feelings ; 
or  they  may  be  ethical,  concerned  immediately  with  the 
direction  of  the  will.^  Finally,  there  may  be  an  activity 
of  still  larger  scope,  as  embracing  all  these  three,  and 
aiming  at  an  ideal  which  absorbs  the  ideals  of  all  the 
others.  This  activity  may  be  named  religious.  The 
ideal  of  the  first  activity  is  truth  absolute,  —  that  is,  an 
absolutely  harmonious  system  of  thought ;  of  the  second, 
it  is  beauty,  —  that  is,  an  absolutely  harmonious  grat- 
ification ;  of  the  third,  it  is  goodness,  — that  is,  an 
absolutely  harmonious  object  of  volition.  Of  the  su- 
preme activity  of  the  human  spirit  the  ideal  is  God,  — 
that  is,  a  being  who  comprehends  all  goodness  and 
beauty  and  truth. 

This  chapter  naturally  divides  into  four  sections. 

*  See  Kant's  Kritik  der  reinen  Vemunft,  pp.  419-422,  ed.  Hartensteln 
See  also  above,  p.  240,  note  1. 

•  Tlaffa  Sidvoia  fi  irpaKTiK^  fj  iroirfriK^  fi  dtupTfTtKif.  Aristotle, 
Metaphysics,  V.,   1,  3. 


272  PSYCHOLOGY 

§  1.  —  The  Speculative  Ideal. 

As  already  stated,  the  ideal  of  all  intellectual  exer- 
tion is  truth.  But  truth,  as  its  etymology  implies,  is 
an  activity  of  mind;  it  is  what  a  mind  troiveth}  We 
have  seen,  however,  that  all  the  intellectual  activities 
hitherto  analysed  involve  consciousness  of  relation.  A 
perce2:)tion,  even  in  the  simplest  form,  is  a  consciousness 
of  resemblance  between  a  past  and  a  present  sensation, 
—  a  recognition  of  a  past  sensation  in  the  present. 
Generalisation  is  a  consciousness  of  resemblance  be- 
tween different  phenomena,  which  are  on  that  ground 
thought  under  one  category  or  class.  And  reasoning 
was  shown  to  be  a  consciousness  of  resemblance  between 
relations.  All  cognitions  are  thus  reducible  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  relations  which  increase  in  complexity 
with  the  development  of  intellectual  life. 

But  every  consciousness  of  relation  is  not  cognition. 
To  make  it  cognition,  the  relation  must  be  not  merely 
an  accidental  coexistence  in  an  individual  conscious- 
ness; it  must  be  independent  on  the  accidents  of  an 
individual's  mental  life ;  it  must  be  valid  for  universal 
intelligence.  In  a  word,  it  must  be,  not  a  subjective 
association,  but  an  objective  connection.  Such  a  con- 
sciousness is  truth,  knowledge,  science. 

Accordingly  the  endeavour  after  truth  is  an  effort  to 
bring  all  our  consciousnesses  —  all  our  trowings  —  not 
only  into  harmonious  relation,  but  into  such  connection 
that  they  shall  all  be  thought  as  dependent  on,  necessi- 

^  Troueth,  trowth,  trouth,  and  troth  are  old  spellings  of  truth. 
Piers  Plowman  uses,  on  one  occasion,  even  the  seemingly  paradoxical 
expression,  "  many  a  fals  treuthe,"  which  is,  of  course,  merely  many  a 
false  trowing  or  opinion. 


IDEALISATION  273 

tated  by,  each  other.  All  scientific  research  sets  out 
with  the  assumption  that  every  truth  is  in  thinkable 
unison  with  every  other;  and  scientific  effort  would  be 
at  once  paralysed  by  the  suspicion  that  there  is  any 
factor  of  knowledge  which  in  the  last  analysis  may  be 
a  surd  quantity,  incapable  of  being  brought  into  intel- 
ligible relation  with  the  general  system  of  thought. 
The  labours  of  science,  therefore,  aim  at  discovering  to 
consciousness  this  reciprocal  connection  of  different 
truths;  and  the  intellectual  ideal  is  thus  a  system  of 
thought  in  which  all  cognitions  —  that  is,  all  truths, 
all  objective  connections  —  are  conceived  as  component 
factors  of  one  self-consciousness.  Such  a  system  is 
absolute  truth. 

Here  it  would  be  out  of  place  to  sketch  such  a  system, 
even  in  general  outline.  This  is  the  work  of  philosophy, 
not  of  psychology.  Our  interest  is  limited  to  the  mental 
process  by  which  such  a  system  unfolds  itself  in  con- 
sciousness; and  it  now  appears  that  this  process  is 
merely  an  inevitable  outgrowth  of  that  conscious  com- 
parison which  constitutes  intelligence  universally. 

§  2.  —  The  Esthetic  Ideal. 

The  aesthetic  ideal  is  beauty,  and  this  has  been  already 
described  as  an  absolutely  pure  gratification.  Xow 
our  gratifications  —  our  pleasures  —  as  well  as  our 
pains  arise  from  the  exercise  of  our  various  powers  in 
accordance  with  a  law  which  will  be  investigated  in  the 
next  Part  of  this  Book.  It  will  thus  appear  that  a 
pleasure  to  be  pure  —  that  is,  to  be  free  from  any 
alloy  —  must  be  disinterested;   in  other  words,   must 

18 


274  PSYCHOLOGY 

be  dissociated  from  all  the  interests  of  life,  speculative 
and  practical,  higher  and  lower  alike.  The  lower  inter- 
ests are  associated  most  closely  with  the  struggle  for 
individual  existence,  the  higher  with  the  struggle  for 
social  existence.  The  lower  are  therefore  what  are 
commonly  understood  as  selfish  interests ;  the  higher  are 
unselfish,  social,  moral.  The  two  may  be  briefly  spoken 
of  as  egoism  and  altruism  respectively.  Esthetic  grat- 
ification, as  pure  or  harmonious,  must  be  free  from 
any  incongruity  either  of  egoism  or  of  altruism.  The 
activities  on  which  it  depends,  as  has  often  been  pointed 
out  since  Schiller's  time,  are  of  the  nature  of  play,^  in 
which  exertion  has  no  end  beyond  itself,  finding  complete 
satisfaction  in  the  pleasure  which  itself  produces. 

That  aspect  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  in  which  it 
is  considered  as  a  mere  feeling  of  pleasure  relegates  it 
to  the  next  Part;  but  it  has  another  aspect  too.  In  so 
far  as  it  is  a  consciousness  of  an  object  qualified  to  give 
a  pure  gratification,  it  involves  an  intellectual  factor, 
the  quality  of  the  object  being  what  is  understood  by 
beauty.  It  is  this  intellectual  side  of  the  aesthetic  con- 
sciousness that  comes  under  consideration  at  present. 

Intellectually  this  consciousness  is  often  described 
as  imagination.  As  this  term  seems  to  imply  merely 
the  unaltered  representation  of  what  has  been  formerly 
presented  in  consciousness,  psychologists  have  been 
accustomed  to  give  explicitness  to  their  language  by 
distinguishing  such  unaltered  representation  as  simple 

^  See  Schiller's  Briefe  ii'ber  die  asthetische  Erziehung  des  Menschen, 
especially  the  sixteenth  letter.  It  is  this  suggestion  of  Schiller's  that 
forms  the  germ  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  account  of  aesthetic  feeling 
(Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  VIII.,  Chap.  IX.),  of  which  a  detailed 
exposition  is  given  in  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  Yolume  on  Phyaiologioal 
Esthetics. 


IDEALISATION  2Y5 

or  reproductive  imagination,  while  the  imagination 
implied  in  aesthetic  consciousness  is  described  with  vary- 
ing propriety  as  productive,  creative,  poetic,  plastic, 
artistic.  Even  in  simple  imagination,  however,  a  good 
deal  of  selection  goes  on,  owing  to  the  various  degrees 
of  suggestibility  in  the  factors  of  a  representation;  so 
that  no  sharp  line  can  be  drawTi  in  all  cases  between 
an  imagination  that  is  simply  reproductive  and  one 
that  is  really  creative.  But  the  latter  will  be  found, 
on  analysis,  to  be  merely  a  mode  of  the  general  pro- 
cesses  of   intelligence,  —  association   and   comparison. 

1.  The  materials  of  productive  imagination,  when 
not  supplied  immediately  by  perception,  —  and  then 
of  course  they  imply  the  associations  and  comparisons 
of  all  perceptions,  —  are  given  by  representations,  that 
is,  by  simple  imaginations,  suggested  by  the  laws  of 
association. 

2.  But  there  is  more  implied  than  the  unmodified 
reproduction  of  former  cognitions,  and  it  is  this  addi- 
tional factor  of  imagination  that  is  intended  to  be 
expressed  by  such  terms  as  productive  and  creative. 
It  is  true  that  in  one  respect  the  mind  cannot  be  said 
to  create  or  produce  anything,  as  it  cannot  give  existence 
to  any  materials  which  it  has  not  originally  received 
from  sense;  and  for  this  reason  the  term  plastic  has 
been  suggested  as  more  descriptive  of  its  operation.^ 
But  by  rearranging  the  materials  once  given  to  it, 
imagination  does  create  for  these  a  new  form;  and  in 
this  sense  the  artistic  mind  may  be  truly  spoken  of  as 
creative:  it  is  this  power  of  originating  arrangements, 
which  to  itself  are  new,  that  constitutes  the  originality 

1  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  262,  498, 
500. 


276  PSYCHOLOGY 

of    any   mind.     This    creative   process    must    now    be 
analysed. 

Under  analysis  this  process  discloses  so  many  forms, 
more  or  less  complex,  of  that  fundamental  function  of 
intelligence  which  has  been  so  often  referred  to  already 
as  comparison.  This  function  is  involved,  not  only 
in  those  identifications  and  discriminations  which  the 
original  materials  of  imagination  imply,  but  in  a  pecu- 
liar and  distinctive  mode.  The  original  materials  are 
composite  wholes,  which  must  be  decomposed  into  parts, 
in  order  that  these  may  be  recombined  into  new  wholes. 
But  this  decomposition  is  simply  one  of  the  functions 
of  comparison  or  thought;  it  is  the  separation  or  dis- 
crimination of  parts  from  one  another.  In  like  man- 
ner the  recombination  of  the  parts  into  a  new  whole 
is  a  further  function  of  comparison;  it  is  the  identifica- 
tion of  corresponding  parts  of  different  wholes.  This 
may  be  illustrated  by  taking  one  of  the  less  complex 
operations  of  imagination,  such  as  the  creation  of  one 
of  the  simpler  forms  of  fabulous  animals.  What,  for 
example,  is  implied  in  the  imagination  of  a  centaur  ? 
First  of  all,  there  are  to  start  with  two  original  wholes, 
—  the  human  figure  and  that  of  a  horse.  The  two 
figures  are,  in  thought,  separated  into  parts.  The 
upper  part  —  the  bust  —  of  man  is  conceived  as  having 
a  certain  analogy  with  the  upper  part  —  the  head  and 
neck  —  of  the  horse;  while  the  respective  lower  parts 
are  likewise  conceived  as  analogous.  The  parts  of  one 
figure  are  thus  made  alternately  to  supplant,  and  to 
be  supplanted  by,  corresponding  parts  of  the  other; 
and  by  this  comparison  there  is  created  for  thought  a 
new  imaginary  form  of  animal. 


IDEALISATION  2Y7 

While  this  simple  creation  illustrates  the  nature  of 
the  process  implied  in  all  artistic  productions,  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  they  are  all  so  easily  analysed. 
On  the  contrary,  many  of  these  are  so  complex  as  to 
elude  the  most  subtle  analysis.  This  may  be  evinced 
more  clearly  by  observing  that  the  wholes  analysed 
in  the  work  of  imagination  are  of  two  kinds,  which 
may  be  distinguished  as  quantitative  and  qualitative. 

1.  A  quantitative  whole,  which  was  variously  named, 
by  older  writers,  integral  or  mathematical^  is  one  whose 
parts  exist  out  of  each  other  in  space,  and  are  therefore 
really  separable.  The  treatment  of  such  wholes  by  the 
imagination  has  just  been  illustrated  in  the  fiction  of 
fabulous  animals.  Even  in  higher  efforts  a  similar 
analysis  and  synthesis  sometimes  find  scope.  The 
sculptor  or  painter  of  an  ideal  will  naturally  study  the 
peculiarities  of  figure  in  the  objects  most  celebrated  for 
the  particular  type  of  beauty  which  he  wishes  to  pro- 
duce ;  and  the  features  of  his  new  creation  may  be  sug- 
gestions gathered  from  a  great  variety  of  such  objects. 
This  appears  in  the  fact  that  the  ideal  of  every  age  and 
country  receives  its  distinctive  character  from  the  reali- 
ties with  which  the  artist  must  have  been  most  familiar. 

2.  But  the  more  complicated  productions  of  imagi- 
nation imply  also,  and  more  generally,  the  analysis  and 
synthesis  of  qualitative  wholes.  These  have  been  some- 
times called  'physical  or  essential.  Their  parts  are 
qualities  which,  as  not  existing  outside  of  each  other 
in  space,  are  separable  only  in  idea,  not  in  reality. 
Thus  colour  and  figure,  as  attributes  of  the  human  body, 
are  parts  of  a  qualitative  whole;  and  so  are  thought, 
feeling,  desire,  virtue,  vice,  as  attributes  of  the  human 


278  PSYCHOLOGY 

soul.*  It  is  evident  that  all  art,  in  so  far  as  it  gives 
expression  to  the  spiritual  life,  must  deal  with  this 
kind  of  whole. 

The  play  of  intelligence  in  producing  its  own  ideal 
world  is  thus  found  to  be  that  analysis  and  synthesis 
—  that  discrimination  and  identification  —  which  we 
have  found  to  be  the  function  of  intelligence  that  excites 
the  aesthetic  emotions ;  and  the  attribute  of  beauty  with 
which  it  clothes  its  objects  has  been  therefore  not  un- 
truly described  as  unity  in  variety.  This  description, 
indeed,  is  one  of  those  abstractions  which  are  far  too 
general  to  be  of  much  service  in  definition.  It  implies 
merely  that  any  particular  object  of  beauty,  or  the  uni- 
verse conceived  as  beautiful,  must  exhibit,  amid  all  its 
variety  that  unity  in  virtue  of  which  alone  it  is  intel- 
ligible, —  in  virtue  of  which  alone,  in  fact,  it  is  an 
object  at  all.  Still,  some  importance  may  be  claimed 
even  for  this  very  general  implication.  It  brings  the 
aesthetic  ideal  into  harmony  with  the  speculative.  It 
shows  that  the  beauty  of  anything  has  a  certain  affinity 
with  its  truth,  —  that  permanent  aesthetic  gratification 
must  be  derived,  not  from  the  transient  fancies  which 
particular  men  entertain  about  things,  but  from  that 
insight  into  the  real  nature  which  things  disclose  to 
universal  intelligence.^ 

*  On  this  distinction  of  wholes  see  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  Lectures  on 
Metaphysics,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  339-340,  with  the  authorities  cited. 

2  Wordsworth  expresses  a  poetic  feeling  of  the  unifying  power  of 
beauty  when  he  describes  his  delight 

"  To  note  in  shrub  and  tree,  in  stone  and  flower, 
That  intermixture  of  delicious  hues, 
Along  so  vast  a  surface,  all  at  once, 
In  one  impression,  iy  connecting  force 
Of  their  own  beauty,   imaged   in   the  heart." 

To  Joanna,  among  the  "  Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places." 


IDEALISATION  279 

The  direction  which  the  sestlietic  play  of  intelligence 
takes  is  deterniined  by  circumstances  which  can  be  dis- 
covered only  by  an  investigation  of  particular  cases; 
and  such  investigation  must  be  left  for  the  biogi'aphers 
of  artists  and  the  historians  of  art.  The  various  prod- 
ucts of  aesthetic  intelligence  are  spoken  of  as  the  fine 
arts  in  contradistinction  from  those  in  which  utility 
is  the  ideal,  and  which  are  described  as  mechanical. 
But  it  has  often  been  remarked  that  the  two  ideals  are 
frequently  combined,  and  that  a  more  intense  aesthetic 
satisfaction  results  from  the  consciousness  that  the 
beauty  of  an  object  is  due  to  the  same  arrangement  which 
gives  it  utility.  This  combination  can  be  easily  ex- 
plained. For  utility  is  the  adaptation  of  means  to  an 
end.  It  is  therefore  an  extremely  definite  form  of  that 
unity  in  variety  which  we  have  seen  to  be  characteristic 
of  beauty. 

It  is  common  to  distinguish  the  fine  arts  in  accordance 
with  the  materials  they  employ,  or  —  what  amounts  to 
the  same  —  the  faculties  which  they  address.  This 
principle  divides  them  into  three  classes.  For  all  the 
arts  either  use  the  two  most  intellectual  senses  which 
have  been  sometimes  inaccurately  spoken  of  as  the  sole 
sensible  organs  of  beauty,  or  they  address  themselves 
directly  to  the  imagination  through  the  ordinary  medium 
of  language. 

I.  The  arts  which  address  themselves  to  the  eye  are 
three,  —  sculpture,  architecture,  and  painting.  From 
the  nature  of  vision  these  arts  are  subject  to  a  peculiar 
restriction ;  they  are  limited  to  the  situation  of  a 
moment.  All  motion,  all  change,  all  that  is  unfolded 
through  time,  is  excluded  from  the  immediate  scope  of 


280  PSYCHOLOGY 

these  arts;  they  can  tell  of  anj  event  Tvhich  occupies 
time  merely  what  is  capable  of  being  apprehended  in 
the  arrangement  of  circumstances  at  a  particular  in- 
stant. This  limitation,  of  course,  imposes  a  peculiar 
difficulty  on  the  artist:  it  requires  him  to  select  from 
the  evolution  of  any  phenomenon  that  moment  at  which 
its  whole  meaning  will  be  most  completely  suggested 
to  the  spectator.  ^\Tiat  moment  best  fulfils  this  con- 
dition —  the  opening,  the  middle,  or  the  close  of  a 
development  —  is  a  problem  of  technical  interest  which 
need  not  be  discussed  here.  But  the  task  affords  the 
artist  an  opportunity  of  w^orking  one  of  the  most  potent 
charms  within  the  reach  of  human  skill.  He  can  snatch 
from  the  ceaseless  currents  of  time  any  moment  of 
peculiar  significance,  and  preserve  something  of  its 
living  power  for  the  perennial  enjoyment  of  human 
sight.  It  is  but  with  sober  truth,  therefore,  that  Words- 
worth exalts  the  function  of  the  painter :  — 

"  Thou,  with  ambition  modest  yet  sublime, 
Here,  for  the  sight  of  mortal  man,  hast  given 
To  one  brief  moment  caught  from  fleeting  time 
The  appropriate  calm  of  blest  eternity."  ^ 

There  is  probably,  moreover,  in  every  product  of  time 
some  moment  w^hich  is  more  amply  suggestive  than  any 
other,  at  least  for  the  particular  purpose  of  the  artist; 
and  an  additional  significance  is  given  to  his  craft 
when  he  frees  that  moment  from  its  natural  mutability 

*  Miscellaneous  Sonnets,  IX.  This  immortal  arrest  of  fleeting  inci- 
dent for  the  purpose  of  perennial  aesthetic  delight  is  the  leading  idea 
in  Keats's  exquisite  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn.  Hegel,  also,  has  given  a 
similar  interpretation  to  historical  art :  "  What  has  but  a  fleeting  ex- 
istence in  Memory  the  historian  combines  in  a  whole,  erects  it  in  the 
temple  of  Mnemosyne,  and  gives  it  therewith  an  immortal  duration  " 
{Philosophie  der  Geschichte,  p.  4). 


IDEALISATION  281 

and  imparts  to  it  an  ideal  permanence.  Although  there- 
fore it  may  be  with  a  little  youthful  extravagance,  it 
is  not  without  an  important  meaning,  that  Schelling 
in  one  of  his  earlier  writings  observes :  "  Every  product 
of  nature  has  only  one  moment  of  true  perfect  beauty, 
one  moment  of  full  existence.  In  this  moment  it  is 
what  it  is  for  all  eternity;  beyond  this  there  comes  to 
it  only  a  growth  and  a  decay.  Inasmuch  as  art  presents 
the  essence  of  the  thing  in  that  moment,  it  lifts  it 
beyond  time;  it  makes  it  appear  in  its  pure  being,  in 
the  eternal  form  of  its  life."  ^ 

1.  Of  the  three  arts  included  under  this  head  the 
most  limited  in  its  range  is  sculpture;  for  it  gives  up 
the  infinitely  varied  effect  of  colour,  which  is  one  of 
the  chief  sources  of  the  painter's  power,  as  well  as  the 
aid  which  he  obtains  from  a  background  as  a  setting 
to  his  figures.  The  sculptor  is  limited  to  mere  form 
for  the  expression  of  his  conceptions.  But  it  is  the 
human  form  that  he  employs,  and  this  includes  muscular 
development  and  attitude.  These,  however,  are  ordi- 
nary natural  expressions,  and  often  the  most  pathetic 
expressions  of  human  emotion ;  so  that  the  range  of  the 
sculptor's  power  is  larger,  and  its  intensity  deeper,  than 
the  limitation  of  his  material  might  at  first  lead  us  to 
suppose. 

^  Veber  das  Verhdltniss  der  bildenden  Kiinste  su  der  Natur  (Werke, 
Erste  Abtheilung,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  303).  Schelling  has  been  anticipated  by 
Shalcespeare  in  the  sonnet  beginning, 

"  When  I  consider  everything  that  grows 
Holds  in  perfection  but  one  little  moment." 

A  remark  of  Wordsworth's  also  is  In  point.  Referring  in  a  letter  to 
some  critic  who  had  spoken  of  a  poem  of  his  on  a  daisy,  he  makes  the 
correction,  "It  was  on  the  daisy,  a  mighty  diCference !  "  (Knight's 
Life  of  Wordsuorth,  Vol.  II.,  p.  95.) 


282  PSYCHOLOGY 

2.  Architecture  is  akin  to  sculpture  in  the  material 
it  employs,  but  perfectly  distinct  in  the  effect  at  which 
it  aims.  Leaving  the  definiteness  of  the  human  figure, 
founding  its  combinations  rather  on  the  forms  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  it  is  necessarily  more  vague  in  its  effects 
on  the  mind,  awakening  more  of  sentiment  than  of  clear 
conception.  It  is  an  often  quoted  saying,  that  archi- 
tecture is  "  petrified  music ;  '^  ^  and  its  affinity  with 
music  in  the  preponderance  of  its  emotional  over  its 
intellectual  effects  gives  a  certain  significance  to  the 
expression.  Architecture  therefore  takes  rank  with 
music  among  the  arts  which  have  served  as  handmaids 
to  religion,  fitted  as  it  is  by  the  mysterious  vagueness 
of  its  effects  to  stimulate  "  the  spirit  that  worketh  in 
us  with  groanings  which  cannot  be  uttered.'^  There  is 
a  kindred  sublimity  in  the  ideas  associated  with  public 
order  in  any  community,  forming  as  it  does  a  human 
type  of  the  vaster  order  of  the  universe.  Not  inap- 
propriately, therefore,  has  architecture  been  employed 
among  all  nations  in  the  service  of  political  welfare  for 
the  purpose  of  adding  its  imposing  effects  to  the  insti- 
tutions of  government. 

3.  There  is  a  certain  restriction  attached  to  painting 
which  does  not  belong  to  architecture  or  sculpture. 
Representing  objects  on  a  plane  surface,  it  is  limited 
to  a  single  point  of  view.  But  this  defect  is  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  superior  advantages  of  the  art. 
For  while  it  is  unrestricted  in  regard  to  the  kind  of 
figures  with  which  it  deals,  its  power  is  greatly  enhanced 
by  its  being  able  to  represent  these  in  their  native  col- 

*  See  Eckermann's  Conversations  of  Goethe,  Vol.  II.,  p.  146  (English 
translation). 


IDEALISATION  283 

ours  and  in  all  the  setting  of  the  world  by  which  they 
are  surrounded  in  reality.  By  the  variety  of  its  figures, 
therefore,  by  combining  these  with  their  actual  sur- 
roundings, by  exhibiting  them  in  all  the  coloured  light 
in  which  they  would  naturally  be  seen,  painting  is 
endowed  with  greater  power  than  any  other  art  to  bring 
the  visible  world,  in  all  its  life-like  reality,  before  the 
mind. 

An  old  proverb,  that  "  seeing  is  believing,"  embodies 
universal  experience  with  regard  to  the  power  which 
sight  wuelds  over  the  intelligence  of  men.  Consequently 
the  value  of  visual  art  in  the  education  of  the  mind 
has  always  been  recognised.  JSTot  only  does  it  furnish 
the  clearest  idea  of  visible  objects,  but  it  takes  generally 
the  place  of  literature  where  reading  is  a  rare  accom- 
plishment. For  this  reason  picture-writing  precedes 
phonetic  writing  in  the  history  of  the  race ;  so  it  ought 
in  the  life  of  the  child.  Froebel  brought  this  fact  into 
prominence  in  educational  method.  But  that  is  by  no 
meant  merely  a  childish  delight  that  is  found  in  pic- 
ture-books. The  maturest  mind  is  precisely  that  which 
realises  most  clearly  that  a  very  imperfect  picture,  even 
a  rough  pen-and-ink  sketch,  will  generally  convey  a 
more  satisfactory  idea  of  any  visible  object  or  scene  than 
any  verbal  description.  It  is  a  recognition  of  this  fact 
that  is  leading  to  the  more  liberal  equipment  of  schools 
and  colleges  wuth  maps,  diagrams,  models,  pictures,  and 
casts.  The  lecturer,  too,  finds  that  his  task  is  lightened, 
and  the  interest  of  his  audience  enhanced,  by  means  of 
the  stereopticon,  while  the  vast  recent  growth  of  illus- 
trated literature,  in  periodicals  as  well  as  in  books,  is 
a   proof   of   the   satisfaction   which   the   human   mind 


28-i  PSYCHOLOGY 

obtains  from  the  use  of  vision  to  acquire  a  knowledge 
of  whatever  is  visible.-^  And  in  the  higher  regions  of 
mental  life  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  the  old  puritan 
hostility  to  the  artistic  decoration  of  churches  is  giving 
way  before  the  groAving  appreciation  of  the  power  of 
visual  art  in  developing  religious  ideas  and  sentiments. 

There  is  one  fact  that  makes  pictorial  art  more  effect- 
ive than  any  verbal  descrijDtion  as  an  aid  to  the  imagi- 
nation. The  waiter  can  at  best  indicate  only  the  most 
prominent  or  the  most  interesting  features  of  a  scene; 
otherwise  the  reader  w^ould  find  an  intolerable  weariness 
in  the  minute  realism  of  the  descrijDtion.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  picture  must  represent  a  scene  as  it  might  be 
presented  to  the  eye,  with  its  minutest  details  filled 
in.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  therefore,  that  an  artist 
illustrating  an  author  may  help  him  to  a  more  vivid 
imagination  of  the  scenes  he  has  described.  Even 
Goethe,  looking  over  Delacroix's  illustrations  of  Faust, 
confessed  frankly  that  the  artist  had  thought  out  some 
of  the  scenes  more  perfectly  than  he  had  done  himself.^ 

II.  In  music  —  the  art  which  addresses  the  ear  — 
time  is  involved  as  essentially  as  it  is  excluded  in  the 
arts  which  address  the  eye.  The  flow  of  sound  is  some- 
times spoken  of  as  an  ideal  movement,  and  a  considerable 
part  of  musical  gratification  is  due  to  rhythm  or  peri- 
odicity, —  that  is,  the  separation  of  the  whole  time 
occupied  by  a  musical  composition  into  equal  intervals. 
The  general  effect  of  music  on  the  mind  may  well  be 
described  as  mysterious,  for  it  presents  a  problem  which 
is  very  far  from  being  satisfactorily  solved.     But  as 

^  See  The  Pictorial  Press:  its  Origin  and  Progress.  By  Mason  Jack- 
son.    1885. 

2  Eckermann's  Conversations  of  Qoethe,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  297-298. 


IDEALISATION  285 

that  effect  is  one  that  touches  the  feelings  rather  than 
the  intellect,  it  will  appropriately  come  up  again  for 
discussion  at  a  later  stage.  It  need  only  be  said  here, 
that  tones  constitute  the  material  of  the  musical  artist 
in  the  same  sense  as  form  and  colour  in  the  arts  that 
address  the  eye,  and  that  the  musical  ideal  is  a  product 
of  the  same  intellectual  analysis  and  synthesis  which 
form  the  process  of  artistic  production  in  general. 

III.  The  art  which  uses  language  as  its  material 
may  be  named  literature,  for  want  of  any  more  expres- 
sive designation.  The  term  poetry  might  be  appro- 
priate, were  it  not  so  commonly  used  with  exclusive 
reference  to  a  versified  structure  of  composition.  For 
the  aim  of  poetry  is  to  produce  an  gesthetic  gratification 
by  the  mere  play  of  intellect  and  feeling  stimulated 
by  the  suggestions  of  language.  But  literature  in  all 
its  forms  has  some  immediate  end  in  view,  narration 
or  exposition,  argument  or  exhortation;  and  the  more 
artistically  it  is  constructed  for  the  attainment  of  this 
end,  the  more  nearly  does  it  approach  the  character  of 
poetry  from  the  aesthetic  gratification  with  which  the 
end  is  secured.  Accordingly  the  descriptive  narratives 
in  which  the  historian  makes  the  past  live  again  before 
his  reader's  imagination,  the  illustrations  by  which  the 
scientific  expositor  enables  us  to  see  throughout  the 
world  the  manifold  operations  of  a  vast  natural  law,  — 
all  such  literary  achievements  are  the  source  of  an 
artistic  pleasure.  Even  a  well-connected  mathematical 
demonstration,  or  a  bare  statement  of  scientific  facts 
arranged  into  clear  system,  may  possess  some  charm  of 
art. 

Literature  is  not,  like  the  other  arts,  limited  to  the 


286  PSYCHOLOGY 

materials  of  a  single  sense.  Addressing  itself  directly 
to  the  mind  through  the  most  familiar  and  most  intel- 
ligible form  of  human  expression,  it  claims  for  its  use, 
not  only  the  materials  of  all  sensation,  but  every  feel- 
ing and  thought,  every  mental  state  and  act,  that  is 
capable  of  being  suggested  by  words.  It  cannot  indeed 
reproduce  the  visual  aspects  of  a  remote  object  or  a 
past  scene  with  the  vividness  which  may  be  given  to 
these  by  painting  or  sculpture,  nor  can  it  stir  the  soul 
with  the  uncontrollable  emotions  w^hich  music  excites ; 
but  its  range  is  unrestricted  by  any  of  the  limitations 
within  which  these  arts  are  confined.  It  can  even,  by 
what  has  been  somewhat  significantly  named  word- 
painting,  produce  with  some  success  a  visual  image  of 
what  is  distant  in  space  or  time;  and  the  pictures  thus 
conjured  before  the  imagination,  instead  of  being  lim- 
ited to  an  instantaneous  situation,  may  range  through 
any  period,  and  be  quickened  with  all  the  liveliness  of 
movement,  of  change.  It  can  also,  by  the  euphonious 
combinations  of  language  even  in  prose,  and  still  more 
by  the  measured  euphony  of  verse,  produce  a  certain 
musical  effect;  while  by  making  the  tones  of  language 
ring  to  the  march  of  historical  events,  to  an  unfolding 
chain  of  argument,  or  to  the  illustration  of  an  universal 
truth,  it  can  enlist  intellect  in  the  work  of  emotion, 
and  direct  an  emotional  outburst  to  its  aim  w^ith  a  cer- 
tainty which  is  impossible  under  the  vague  impulses  of 
music. 

The  function,  also,  of  literature  as  an  interpreter 
of  the  visual  arts  ought  not  to  be  overlooked.  Rarely 
can  a  painting  or  sculpture  adequately  explain  itself, 
at  least  explain  itself  so  perfectly  that  the  enjoyment 


IDEALISATION  287 

of  it  is  not  enhanced  by  some  verbal  interpretation. 
Indeed,  some  works  of  art,  in  the  absence  of  any  explana- 
tion of  the  artist's  design,  remain  still  a  subject  of  dis- 
pute among  critics.  Any  one  who  wanders  through  a 
gallery  without  guide  or  guide-book  or  descriptive  cat- 
alogue knows  how  often  he  is  completely  at  a  loss  with 
regard  to  the  significance  of  the  artistic  productions 
before  his  eyes,  while  a  few  explanatory  words,  a  mere 
title,  will  often  flash  the  enlightenment  required.^ 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  the  artistic  char- 
acter of  literary  composition  is  due  to  that  intellectual 
analysis  and  synthesis  which  are  the  source  of  all  art. 
Even  the  simplest  grammatical  syntax,  as  the  name 
indicates,  implies  an  intelligent  discrimination  of  the 
parts  of  speech  and  their  combination  into  a  sentence; 
while  the  term  composition^  which  is  commonly  used 
not  only  for  the  syntax  of  words  in  a  sentence,  but  for 
the  arrangement  of  sentences  in  the  treatment  of  an 
extensive  theme,  points  also  to  the  nature  of  the  intel- 
lectual operation  which  literary  work  involves.  The 
experience  of  the  literary  man  is  often  a  painful  illus- 
tration of  the  wearisome  toil  which  must  be  undergone 
to  collect  his  materials  and  marshal  them  in  an  order 
intelligible  to  himself  before  he  can  make  it  intelligible 
to  his  readers;  while  the  wearisome  toil  which  unfor- 
tunately a  reader  must  often  undergo  is  an  equally 
painful  illustration  of  failure,  on  the  part  of  the  literary 
workman,  to  master  his  materials  by  the  detailed  re- 
search and  the  intelligible  combination  necessary  to 
artistic  work. 

*  Browning  has  drawn  a  capital  poetic  Illustration  from  this  In 
Prince  Hnhcnsticl-Schtvanfjau   (Works,  Vol.  XL,  pp.  171-172). 


288  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  remarks  in  this  section  have  been  of  necessity 
limited  mainly  to  the  aesthetic  consciousness  of  men  in 
general,  without  entering  at  length  on  the  specialised 
consciousness  of  the  artist.  The  importance  of  artistio 
production  in  human  life,  and  the  special  character  of 
the  culture  which  it  implies,  have  raised  the  subject 
into  the  rank  of  a  special  science.  For  the  technical 
examination  of  the  principles  of  art,  the  student  must 
consult  any  of  the  numerous  works  on  aesthetics  or  on 
the  several  arts. 

§  3.  —  The  Ethical  Ideal. 

The  nature  of  volition  is  a  subject  reserved  for  dis- 
cussion at  a  later  stage.  There  it  wdll  appear  that  a 
volition  is  a  self-conscious  act,  —  an  act  of  a  being 
"who  knows  what  he  is  doing,  knows  the  end  w^hich  his 
act  is  designed  to  attain.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
every  phenomenon  in  human  life  which  is  called  action 
answ^ers  to  this  description.  Many  so-called  actions 
involve  no  conscious  direction  towards  an  end.  Whether 
or  not  such  phenomena  can  in  strictness  be  called  actions, 
they  are  not  volitions;  and  therefore  a  volition  is  an 
intelligent  act,  —  an  act  directed  by  intelligence  of  an 
end  to  be  reached. 

As  the  actions  of  men  are  various,  various  also  are 
the  ends  which  they  seek  to  attain.  But  as  the  end 
is  always  one  that  is  sought  by  an  intelligent  being, 
it  must  be  in  some  sort  adapted  to  his  intelligence. 
His  intelligence,  however,  can  take  cognizance,  not 
merely  of  the  end  to  be  attained  by  any  particular  action, 
but  also  of  the  remoter  consequences  which  are  linked 


IDEALISATIOlSr  289 

with  that  end  by  an  indissoluble  chain  of  causation. 
Consequently  every  being  who  is  capable  of  intelligently 
directing  his  conduct  governs  it  not  merely  by  purposes 
of  the  moment,  but  by  reference  to  results  of  far  larger 
scope.  It  is,  in  fact,  scarcely  possible  to  conceive  an 
intelligent  act  which  is  exhausted  in  its  immediate  end. 
Is  it  the  blow  of  a  hammer,  the  thrust  of  a  spade  into 
the  soil,  a  walk  from  one  point  to  another,  a  child's 
exercise  over  the  alphabet,  or  a  statesman's  address  to 
a  legislature  ?  the  meaning  of  all  such  acts  is  usually 
explained  by  results  that  are.  not  to  be  reached  for  hours, 
for  days,  or,  it  may  be,  for  years.  The  intelligent 
agent  therefore  seeks  a  rule  of  conduct  which  is  of 
permanent  value  and  not  merely  of  ephemeral  use. 

But  the  intelligent  rule  of  conduct  is  thus  not  only 
lengthened  in  its  scope;  it  is  also  widened.  For  the 
actions  of  a  man  bring  him  into  manifold  reciprocity 
with  his  fellows;  and  consequently  he  finds  that  his 
conduct  cannot  but  have  a  reference  to  others  as  well 
as  to  himself.  This  necessary  reference  to  others  in- 
evitably expands,  as  does  the  necessary  reference  to 
his  individual  circumstances.  As  his  intelligence  can- 
not limit  itself  to  the  wants  of  the  moment  in  seeking 
a  rule  for  the  guidance  of  his  conduct,  so  it  cannot 
restrict  itself  by  a  regard  for  a  limited  circle  of  other 
persons  to  the  disregard  of  all  outside.  The  same  im- 
perious necessity  which  demands  of  the  intelligent  be- 
ing that  his  conduct  shall  be  intelligent  refuses  to  let 
him  rest  content  with  any  rule  which  is  of  limited 
application  to  himself  or  to  others.  It  is  not  in  accord- 
ance with  the  claims  of  intelligence,  it  is  not  reasonable, 
that  any  one  moment  or  any  one  person  should  alone 

19 


290  PSYCHOLOGY 

be  considered  in  acting.  The  intelligent  agent  there- 
fore finds  satisfaction  only  in  a  rule  of  conduct  which 
is  of  universal  application,  —  a  rule  giving  him  an 
aim  for  one  moment  which  is  not  discordant  with  the 
aims  of  any  other,  —  an  aim  for  himself  which  does 
not  conflict  with  the  aims  of  other  persons.  This  is 
that  absolutely  harmonious  end  —  that  realisation  of 
universal  law  in  the  particular  act  —  which  constitutes 
the  ethical  ideal. 

The  preceding  remarks  are  not,  of  course,  to  be  taken 
as  an  exhaustive  analysis  of  the  ethical  consciousness. 
This  mental  state  always  involves  an  element  of  feeling, 
which  is  not  only  often  predominant,  but  even  at  times 
completely  submerges  the  intellectual  factor.  The 
nature  of  the  moral  feelings  will  come  under  considera- 
tion again;  but  even  the  intellectual  side  of  the  moral 
consciousness  must  not  be  supposed  to  be  exhausted  in 
the  above  analysis.  The  analysis  brings  out  one  fea- 
ture of  the  rule  which  the  moral  consciousness  seeks  for 
the  guidance  of  action;  it  shows  that  that  rule  is  one 
of  universal  application.  But  this  is  a  mere  form,  to 
which  specific  contents  must  be  supplied.  For  we  are 
not  told  what  end  is  that  w^hich  can  be  universally  pre- 
scribed for  human  conduct.  Is  it  pleasure  or  perfec- 
tion, is  it  respect  for  self  or  respect  for  others,  is  it 
the  will  of  the  Infinite  Being,  or  the  laws  of  nature, 
or  the  conditions  of  success  in  the  struggle  for  existence  ? 
These  are  questions  which  need  not  be  discussed  here; 
they  carry  us  beyond  psychology  into  the  domain  of 
ethics. 

But,  in  addition,  it  must  be  observed  that  the  above 
analysis  brings  out  mainly  the  pure  form  of  the  moral 


IDEALISATION  291 

consciousness,  —  the  form  towards  which  the  evolution 
of  that  consciousness  tends.  The  process  of  evolution, 
however,  both  in  the  individual  and  in  communities, 
reveals  many  impure  or  imperfect  forms  in  ordinary 
mental  life.  A  great  part  of  history  is  necessarily 
devoted  to  tracing  the  development  of  this  consciousness 
towards  its  ideal  universality,  as  well  as  the  effect 
of  such  development  on  the  institutions  and  customs  of 
communities;  while  general  literature  derives  much  of 
its  interest  and  pathos  from  its  pictures  of  the  infinitely 
varied  stages  of  moral  culture,  and  of  the  tragic  or 
comic  results  which  these  produce  in  human  life.  For 
as  this  consciousness  is  the  authoritative  controller  of 
conduct,  we  have  in  it  the  most  potent  influence  in  giv- 
ing a  permanent  character  to  the  organisation  of  society. 
Accordingly,  in  our  social  institutions,  —  in  the  family, 
in  the  State,  in  international  law,  in  the  Church  itself 
considered  as  a  corporation  of  human  beings,  —  we 
have  so  many  realised  expressions,  more  or  less  perfect, 
of  the  moral  consciousness.  These  institutions,  how- 
ever, are  of  such  importance  in  human  life  that  they 
form  the  subjects  of  separate  sciences ;  and  for  further 
discussion  of  them  the  student  must  be  referred  to  philo- 
sophical jurisprudence  and  politics. 

§  4.  —  The  Religious  Ideal. 

The  ideals  examined  in  the  three  preceding  sections 
all  indicate  the  tendency  of  intelligence,  as  it  develops, 
to  seek  the  universal  in  the  particular,  to  interpret  the 
particular  in  the  lii^ht  of  the  universal.  In  its  purely 
speculative  activity  the  aim  is  simply  to  know  —  scimus 


292  PSYCHOLOGY 

ut  sciamus  —  without  reference  to  any  ulterior  end,  — 
any  application  of  the  knowledge  obtained ;  and  of  this 
activity,  as  has  been  seen,  the  ultimate  ideal  is  the  har- 
mony of  each  particular  knowledge  with  universal 
intelligence,  —  that  is,  its  comprehension  in  one  self- 
consciousness.  In  the  practical  activity  of  intelligence, 
as  explained  in  last  section,  the  aim  is  one  ulterior 
to  mere  knowledge,  —  scimus  ut  operemur,  —  we  make 
use  of  our  knowledge  as  a  rule  of  conduct;  and  of  this 
activity  the  ultimate  ideal  was  shown  to  be  the  har- 
mony of  each  particular  rule  with  universal  practical 
intelligence,  or,  in  other  words,  the  comprehension  of 
all  rules  in  one  self -consciousness.  Besides  the  specu- 
lative and  practical  activities  of  intelligence,  the  second 
section  explained  another  activity,  which  has  no  interest 
of  a  speculative  or  of  a  practical  kind  in  view,  the  ulti- 
mate end  of  which  is,  in  short,  nothing  beyond  the 
play  of  intelligence  itself.  The  beauty  which  is  the 
ideal  of  this  activity  implies  the  harmony  of  each  par- 
ticular object  of  intellectual  play  with  universal  intel- 
ligence, —  that  is,  the  comprehension  of  all  in  one 
self -consciousness. 

These  various  forms  of  idealisation  are  thus  found 
to  harmonise  in  so  far  as  they  all  imply  in  the  indi- 
vidual intelligence  a  reference  to  an  universal  intelli- 
gence; and  every  advance  to  a  larger  truth,  to  a  fairer 
beauty,  to  a  more  perfect  rule  of  life,  is  an  evidence 
of  the  aspiration  of  the  individual  towards  the  stand- 
point of  the  universal  mind.  When  this  aspiration 
becomes  an  explicit  fact  of  consciousness,  it  forms  the 
religious  spirit  in  man;  and  its  ideal  is  therefore  that 
Universal  Mind,  in  whom  all  the  speculative  and  prac- 


IDEALISATION  293 

tical  and  aesthetic  ideals  of  the  human  consciousness 
are  realised., 

This  sketch  is  not,  of  course,  given  as  a  complete 
analysis  of  the  religious  consciousness,  any  more  than 
the  analysis  in  the  preceding  section  was  supposed  to 
exhaust  the  contents  of  the  moral  consciousness.     Like 
the  moral  consciousness,  the  religious  consciousness  also 
contains  a  large  emotional   element;   and  the  various 
forms  of  emotion  which  enter  into  its  structure  will 
be  noticed  at  another  time.     In  its  historical  evolution, 
moreover,   the   religious   consciousness   undergoes   even 
stranger   modifications   than   the   moral   consciousness; 
and  its  influence  upon  the  life  of  men  —  on  the  recluse 
as  well  as  on  the  man  of  the  world,  on  commercial  enter- 
prise as  well  as  on  schools  of  thought,  on  social  customs 
and  political  institutions  —  has  been  among  the  most 
extensive  and  permanent  of  the  forces  by  which  human 
history  is  moulded.     For   whatever  may  be   decided, 
on  more  accurate  inquiry,  with  regard  to  a  few  savage 
tribes  which  are  said  to  be  without  any  form  of  religious 
belief,  and  though  it  is  claimed  for  some  speculative 
minds  that  they  are  uninfluenced  by  religious  ideas, 
yet  no  nation  without  religious  institutions  has  ever 
taken  a  prominent  place  in  the  world's  history;   and 
there  does  not  seem,  therefore,  to  be  any  normal  human 
development  which  does  not  evolve  some  consciousness 
of  the  relation  between  the  finite  mind  and  the  Infinite. 
The  manifold  influences  of  this  consciousness  must  be 
traced  either  in  works  which  treat  of  history  in  general 
or  in  the  special  histories  of  religion.     Here  we  deal 
with  the  religious  consciousness  merely  as  a  fact  in  the 
mental  life  of  men.     The  true  interpretation  of  this 


294  PSYCHOLOGY 

fact,  its  validity  as  evidence  of  any  objective  reality, 
is  a  problem  which  takes  us  beyond  the  limits  of  psy- 
chology. In  fact,  the  whole  subject  of  the  religious 
conscioTisness  opens  up  a  vast  range  of  other  than 
psychological  questions,  which  are  of  such  importance 
as  to  constitute  a  separate  science,  or  rather  the  cyclo- 
paedia of  separate  sciences  known  under  the  name  of 
theology. 


CHAPTER    V. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS. 


A]^  illusion,  as  the  name  implies,  is  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness in  which,  though  apparently  informed, 
one  is  not  really  so,  but  is  rather  played  with,  made 
sport  of,  befooled.  It  is  true,  the  term  is  used  by 
some  writers  in  a  more  restricted  sense,  which  will 
be  noticed  immediately;  but  the  more  general  appli- 
cation continues  to  hold  its  ground,  while  it  is  more 
accordant  with  the  etymology  of  the  word.  It  will  at 
least  be  found  convenient  to  describe  as  illusory  all 
those  mental  states  which  simulate  the  appearance  of 
knowledge  without  giving  us  real  information.  In  dis- 
cussing these  phenomena  we  shall,  first  of  all,  make  some 
remarks  on  their  general  nature  and  classification,  then 
describe  and  explain  some  of  the  most  familiar,  such 
as  dreams. 

§  1.  —  Illusions  in  General. 

Illusory  cognitions  may  be  distinguished  according 
to  the  sources  from  which  they  arise.  These  are  three. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  senses  that  are  at  fault  in  creating 
the  illusory  impression.  At  other  times  the  mistake 
originates  in  an  intellectual  process  erroneously  inter- 
preting a  normal  impression  of  sense;  while  in  a  third 
class   of  cases   the  error  lies   wholly   in   an   irregular 


296  PSYCHOLOGY 

intellectual  process.  To  the  first  of  these  mental  states 
the  name  hallucination  is  often  given  by  recent  psy- 
chologists; the  third  comprehends  the  fallacies  com- 
monly described  in  logical  text-books ;  while  for  the 
second  the  term  illusion  is  sometimes  specifically  re- 
served. This  distinction  is  one  which  cannot  always 
be  rigidly  carried  out.  The  hallucinations  arising  from 
the  abnormal  activities  of  sense  merge  imperceptibly 
at  times  into  the  illusions  which  imply  a  misinterpre- 
tation of  sensuous  impressions,  and  these,  again,  are 
often  indistinguishable  from  fallacious  processes  of 
reasoning.  The  fallacies  may  be  here  left  out  of 
account,  as  they  form  a  doctrine  specially  reserved  for 
logic,  and  appropriately  treated  as  a  subsidiary  illus- 
tration of  logical  rules.  We  shall  endeavour  to  reach 
some  outline  of  the  phenomena  comprehended  under 
hallucinations  and  illusions  in  the  strictest  sense  of 
these  terms. 

(A)  Hallucinations  originate  in  the  raw  materials 
of  knowledge,  in  the  fact  that  the  mind  is  furnished 
with  erroneous  data.  They  imply,  therefore,  some 
abnormal  excitation  of  sense.  Sensations  of  the  same 
kind  as  those  which  are  normally  excited  by  external 
objects  may  sometimes  be  abnormally  excited  when  no 
object  is  really  present;  and  then,  as  explained  before, 
they  are  called  subjective  sensations.  Many,  if  not 
most,  of  the  phenomena  designated  spectres  or  appari- 
tions may  be  ascribed  to  this  source.  An  object  may 
appear  in  consciousness  either  when,  or  when  not, 
actually  present;  in  other  words,  the  appearance  may 
be  either  real  or  unreal.  A  spectre  or  apparition  is 
an  unreal  appearance. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  297 

Here  will  be  evident  the  difficulty  of  regarding  hallu- 
cinations as  due  to  sense  alone;  for  whenever  an  object, 
even  though  imaginary,  is  created  out  of  sensations, 
whether  normal  or  abnormal,  an  intellectual  activity  is 
implied.  Still,  hallucinations  imply  that  the  sensibil- 
ity is  at  fault,  and  we  must  trace  the  source  of  its 
abnormal  excitements.  These  must  be  referred  to  con- 
ditions in  the  organs  of  sense.  Now  such  conditions 
are  reducible  to  two  heads,  —  the  limitation  or  the 
variation  of  the  sensibility  of  an  organ. 

I.  The  sensibility  of  the  organs  is  limited  in  space, 
in  time,  and  in  degree. 

1.  Organs  are  limited  in  regard  to  space  by  the 
extent  to  which  the  subdivision  of  their  nerve-fibres  is 
carried.  Resulting  from  this,  some  illusory  impressions 
were  noticed  in  treating  the  sense  of  touch.  Thus  at 
an  obtuse  part  of  the  skin  two  points  may  be  felt  as 
merely  one;  and  on  an  acute  part  the  distance  of  two 
points  appears  greater  than  on  an  obtuse  part.  Some- 
times, again,  an  abnormal  excess  of  sensibility  multi- 
plies impressions,  —  makes  two  appear  three,  or  one 
appear  two.^ 

2.  The  limitation  of  sensibility  in  time  arises  from 
the  facts  that  an  impression  must  endure  a  certain 
length  of  time  to  excite  consciousness  at  all,  and  that  it 
tends  to  endure  a  certain  length  of  time  before  it  can 
be  supplanted  by  another. 

(a)  Of  the  first  fact  numerous  instances  have  been 
furnished  in  the  phenomena  of  instantaneous  sugges- 
tion, resulting  from  invariable  association,  which  play 
such  a  prominent  part  in  forming  many  of  the  familiar 
perceptions,  especially  of  sight. 

*  Wundt's  Physiologische  Paychologie,  Vol.  II..  p.  14.  note  1. 


298  PSYCHOLOGY 

(h)  Of  the  second  fact  examples  vary  in  the  different 
senses.  It  was  shown  that  the  less  intellectual  senses 
do  not  recover  rapidly  from  the  effect  of  an  impression, 
their  inferior  intellectual  capacity,  in  fact,  consisting 
in  this  slow  recuperative  power.  It  is  in  consequence 
of  this,  for  example,  that  tastes  cannot  be  readily  dis- 
tinguished in  quick  succession.  Sights,  sounds,  and 
touches,  on  the  other  hand,  were  shown  to  be  easily 
distinguishable,  even  when  simultaneous;  but  this  is 
the  case  only  when  the  intensity  of  these  sensations  is 
of  that  moderate  degree  which  intellectual  processes 
require.  When  an  impression  is  unusually  strong,  it 
is  apt  to  produce  one  or  other  of  two  effects:  it  either 
deadens  the  sensibility,  or  it  endures  after  its  external 
cause  is  removed,  mingling  with  other  impressions  that 
immediately  supervene.  Of  the  former  effect  a  curious 
example  is  found  in  the  phenomena  called  spectra. 
T\Tien  the  eye  has  been  intently  fixed  on  any  object  of 
some  brilliance,  on  its  being  mthdrawn  we  are  apt  to 
see,  after  a  short  interval,  an  image  of  the  object  in 
complementary  colours,  as  if  the  sensibility  of  the  eye 
to  the  natural  colours  of  the  object  had  been  exhausted. 
Thus  a  red  object  leaves  an  after-image  or  spectrum 
of  bluish-green  colour;  a  white  object  against  a  black 
ground  is  succeeded  by  a  spectrum  of  dark  hue  against 
a  light  ground.^  The  other  effect  here  noticed  —  the 
fusion  of  sensations  in  rapid  succession  — ■-  is  most  easily 
produced  in  the  case  of  unusually  powerful  impressions, 
but  shows  itself  also  when  these  are  of  moderate  strength, 
as  illustrated  by  the  thaumatrope  and  other  optical  toys 

*  A  very  full  account  of  these  phenomena  will  be  found  In  Helm- 
holtz's  Physiologische  Optik,  pp.  337-386. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  299 

referred  to  above.^  In  explaining  the  production  of 
tones,  moreover,  it  was' shown  that  some  forty  vibrations 
in  a  second  form  the  limit  of  the  discriminative  power 

of  the  ear. 

3.    From  the  preceding  remarks  it  is  implied  that 
the  sensibility  has  a  limit  in  regard  to  intensity.     As 
already  explained,^  such  a  limit  forms  a  condition  both 
of  sensibility  and  of  the  discrimination  of  sensations. 
As  a  condition  of  sensibility  the  limit  of  intensity  is 
twofold,  on  the  side  of  excess  as  well  as  of  defect.     For 
not  only  is   a  certain  streng-th  of  stimulus  necessary 
to  produce  any  sensation,  but  a  certain  weakness  also. 
An  excessively  strong  stimulus,  or  one  continued  long, 
either  deadens  the  sensibility,  as  we  have  seen,  or  de- 
stroys   at    least    the    special    sensibility    of    the    organ 
affected,   supplanting  it  by  some  general  sensation  of 
pain.     A  certain  difference  of  intensity  is  also  neces- 
sary to  the  discrimination  of  sensations;   and  this  is 
the  difference  which  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  for- 
mulate in  a  psychophysical  law.^ 

II.  But  not  only  is  there  a  limitation  of  the  sensi- 
bility; it  is  also  subject  to  variations  that  are  dependent 
on  numerous  conditions.  This  variation  is  -  noticeable 
both  in  the  degree  and  in  the  kind  of  sensibility  which 
an  organ  displays. 

1.  The  sensibility  may  be  either  exalted  or  lowered 
in  degree. 

(a)  The  exaltation  of  sensibility,  which  is  technically 
called  hyperoBsthesia,  is  due  to  various  causes.  In 
health  it  is  the  common  and  valuable  effect  of  atten- 

1  Book  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  I.,  §  2. 
«  Book  I.,  Part  I.,  Chap.  I.,  §  2. 
»  See  above,  pp.  28-32. 


300  PSYCHOLOGY 

tion  directed  to  any  organ  or  its  sensations.  The  re- 
invigoration,  also,  derived  from  rest,  especially  from 
sleep,  communicates  a  healthy  heightening  of  the  sensi- 
bility; and  it  is  perhaps  largely  due  to  this  that,  for 
example,  the  morning  seems  to  impart  an  increased 
brightness  to  the  colouring  of  nature.  Sometimes  the 
heightened  sensibility  of  an  organ  is  due  to  the  semi- 
morbid  state  of  excessive  fatigue,  while  its  more  ab- 
normal causes  are  to  be  found  in  morbid  nervous 
conditions  like  h^'pnotism  or  those  induced  by  the 
numerous  stimulants  and  poisons  which  act  on  the 
nerves.  It  would  take  us  too  far  into  the  special  pathol- 
ogy of  mind,  were  we  to  enter  on  a  detailed  account 
of  the  hallucinations  arising  from  this  source. 

(h)  The  opposite  effect,  a  depressed  sensibility,  hag 
been  less  appropriately  called  anwsthesia.  The  discus- 
sion of  it  also  belongs  to  the  pathology  of  mind,  for 
its  effects  are  among  the  most  familiar  hallucinations 
of  mental  disease. 

2.  There  are,  however,  also  certain  variations  in  the 
Jcind  of  sensibility  which  an  organ  may  exhibit.  Thus 
in  the  eye  there  is  frequently  met  the  chronic  deficiency 
called  colour-blindness,  while  it  is  also  subject  to  such 
well-known  temporary  derangements  as  that  produced 
by  jaundice.  In  the  ear,  also,  there  occurs  a  defect 
which,  by  its  analogy  with  colour-blindness,  might  be 
called  tone-deafness.  For  such  alterations  of  sensibility 
the  name  paroesthesia  has  been  suggested.-^ 

*  It  has  been  suggested  that  a  more  exact  and  uniform  nomenclature 
might  be  introduced  to  distinguish  the  various  modifications  of  sensi- 
bility. If  cBsthesia  is  adopted  as  a  technical  name  for  pure  sensibility 
itself,  then  ancesthesia  would  be  its  proper  opposite  as  denoting  absolute 
insensibility.     This,  again,  ought  to  be  distinguished  from  mere  anal- 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  301 

The  conditions  of  the  sensibility  which  originate 
hallucinations  are  thus  found  to  be  various.  They  are 
by  no  means  confined  to  disease;  occasionally  remark- 
able hallucinations  surprise  persons  in  sound  health. 
The  general  soundness  of  health  in  such  cases  is  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  the  patient  is  not  deceived  by 
the  hallucinations,  but  sometimes  even  holds  them  under 
such  complete  control  as  to  make  them  come  and  go 
at  will.^  Thus  Earl  Grey  used  to  be  haunted  by  the 
vision  of  a  gory  head,  which  vanished,  however,  at 
his  bidding.  It  is  generally  difficult,  often  impossible, 
to  discover  any  explanation  of  these  hallucinations  in 
sane  life;  but  the  difficulty  is  obviously  due  to  our 
ignorance  of  all  the  circumstances  in  which  the  patient 
happened  to  be  at  the  time.  It  may  be  fairly  conjec- 
tured, however,  that  in  such  cases  there  must  be  some 
peculiar  discharge  of  nervous  energy,  arising  from  an 
emotional  outburst  or  a  volitional  effort,  which  the 
patient  may  never  have  dreamt  of  connecting  with  the 
hallucination,  or  perhaps  from  some  constitutional  ten- 
dency of  which  he  may  be  ignorant.  But  if  we  cannot 
generally  discover  the  stimulating  cause  of  hallucina- 

gesia,  i.  e.,  Insensibility  to  pain  alone,  which  is  the  limited  Insensibility 
often  produced  by  so-called  anesthetics.  Then  excessive  sensibility  Is 
appropriately  named  hypercesthcsia,  and  defective  sensibility  might 
with  equal  propriety  be  called  dysesthesia,  while  parcBsthesia  could  be 
applied  to  a  sensibility  that  is  in  any  way  perverted.  A  great  deal  of 
interesting  information  on  all  these  phenomena  will  be  found  in  the 
work  of  Dr.  Tuke,  already  mentioned,  on  the  Influence  of  the  Mind  upon 
the  Body,  especially  in  Chaps.  II.  and  VII. 

*  Galton's  researches  show  how  nearly  a  healthy  and  vigorous  vis- 
ualising power  approaches  at  times  morbid  hallucination.  In  his 
Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty  see  especially  the  chapter  on  Mental 
Images,  pp.  8.3-114,  and  the  chapter  on  Visionaries,  pp.  155-177.  With 
the  latter  chapter  may  be  compared  Dr.  Ireland's  interesting  work. 
The  Blot  upon  the  Brain  (Edinbiirfrh.  1S.S.5),  which  endpavours  to  trace 
the  influence  of  hallucination  on  some  great  historical  ciiaractefs. 


302  PSYCHOLOGY 

tions,  it  IS  often  possible  to  account  for  the  peculiar 
form  they  assume.  This  form  depends  on  the  sense 
that  is  affected  by  some  cause,  known  or  unknown.  Now 
the  sense  is  often  determined  by  a  person's  habits.  Thus 
a  painter  generally  sees  hallucinations,  while  a  musician 
hears  them.^  Sometimes  in  the  heat  of  composition 
Dickens  heard  his  characters  speak ;  ^  and  Taine  men- 
tions that  the  French  novelist  Gustavo  Flaubert,  while 
writing  the  story  of  Emma  Bovary's  poisoning  by 
arsenic,  became  twice  so  veritably  sick  as  to  vomit  his 
dinner.^  From  the  fact  that  most  of  our  impressions 
of  the  real  world  are  received  through  the  sense  of  sight, 
it  might  be  supposed  that  most  hallucinations  must  be 
visual;  but  it  is  questionable  whether  auditory  hallu- 
cinations are  not  more  frequent.  There  are  strong 
reasons  for  believing  that  such  is  the  case,  at  least  in 
disease ;  ^  and  though  the  reverse  is  said  to  hold  good 
in  health,  yet  this  assertion  seems  by  no  means  estab- 
lished.'^ Professor  Huxley  states  that  to  him  halluci- 
nations of  hearing  are  more  common  than  visual 
apparitions ;  ^  and  the  experience  of  many  others  will 
probably  be  found  to  accord  with  his  in  this  respect. 
Though  there  are  many  hallucinations  of  ordinary 

^  Wundt's  Physiologische  Psychologic,  Vol.  II.,  p.  354  (2d  ed.). 
Galton  knows  "  many  cases  "  of  "  a  musician  hearing  mental  music  " 
(Op.  cit.,  p.  154),  and  refers  to  "a  daughter  of  an  eminent  musician" 
who  "often  imagines  she  hears  her  father  playing"  (p.  167).  Do 
architects  and  engineers  visualise  form  more  clearly  than  colour?  See 
Galton's  Human  Faculty,  pp.  106-107. 

2  Maudsley's  Physiology  of  the  Mind,  p.  293. 

3  Taine's  De  I'Intelligence,  Vol.  I.,  p.  90  (4th  ed.).  Galton  mentions 
"  a  distinguished  authoress "  who  "  once  saw  the  principal  character 
of  one  of  her  novels  glide  through  the  door  straight  up  to  her  "  {Op.  cit., 
p.  167). 

*  Maudsley's  Pathology  of  Mind,  pp.  371-376. 
'  Sully's  Illusions,  p.   119.  note. 

•  Elementary  Lessons  in  Physiology,  p.  267. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  303 

life  which  cannot  be  accounted  for,  yet  there  are  also 
many  the  source  of  which  is  obvious.  In  the  next  sec- 
tion it  will  appear  that  the  peculiar  hallucinations  of 
dreaming  often  admit  of  being  traced  to  their  source; 
and  in  fact  the  hallucinations  of  waking  life  are  some- 
times evidently  the  slowly  fading  residues  of  a  dream, 
the  excitement  of  nerve  being  prolonged  even  after  the 
real  world  has  broken  in  upon  consciousness.  Dr. 
Abercrombie  mentions  the  case  of  a  man  who,  while 
sitting  up  late  one  evening,  fell  asleep,  and  had  an 
unpleasant  dream  in  which  a  hideous  baboon  figured. 
Startled  into  complete  wakefulness,  he  walked  to  the 
middle  of  the  room,  where  he  continued  to  see  the 
baboon  against  the  wall  for  about  half  a  minute.^  After 
wakening  in  the  middle  of  a  dream  I  have  sometimes 
amused  myself  by  dwelling  upon  the  vanishing  dream- 
figures,  which  retained  almost  the  vividness  of  reality 
for  some  minutes  provided  the  eyelids  were  kept  closed.^ 
It  will  probably  be  found  that  most  of  the  common 
hallucinations,  whether  of  hearing  or  of  sight,  experi- 
enced by  persons  in  ordinary  health,  come  at  those 
moments  of  deep  reverie  which  approach  in  character 
the  condition  of  sleep. 

Although  many  hallucinations  of  ordinary  waking 
life  do  not  obtrude  any  definite  peculiarity  of  nerve 
to  account  for  them,  yet  in  most  cases  which  have  been 
subjected  to  careful  investigation  the  patient's  health 
has  furnished  some  explanatory  fact.     Thus  a  gentle- 

»  Abercromble's  Inquiries  Concerning  the  Intellectual  Powers,  p.  278 

(13th  ed.).  .  ^  ^ 

»  A  similar  survival  of  dream-lmageB  after  waking  has  been  observed 
by  Spinoza  (Opera.  Vol.  II..  p.  216.  ed.  Bruder),  and  by  Dr.  Maudsley 
{Physiology  of  the  Mind,  p.  292,  note). 


304  PSYCHOLOGY 

man  who  was  subject  to  epileptic  fits,  and  therefore  to 
some  painful  disorder  in  the  brain,  found  his  attacks 
generally  preceded  by  the  spectre  of  a  little  woman  in 
a  red  cloak  striking  him  on  the  head  with  a  crutch.^ 
A  lady,  on  being  attacked  with  an  acute  inflammation 
in  her  left  side,  saw  the  traditional  skeleton-figure  of 
Death  strike  at  her  diseased  side  with  a  dart.^  Dr. 
Maudsley  mentions  an  analogous  hallucination  of  smell. 
A  gentleman  of  perfectly  sound  mind  in  other  respects 
was  tormented  by  the  a]3parently  groundless  fancy  that 
he  was  a  source  of  annoyance  to  all  his  friends  and 
neighbours  by  reason  of  a  horrible  odour  emitted  from 
his  person.  After  some  months  an  abscess  formed  on 
the  lower  part  of  the  sternum,  indicating  the  growth 
of  some  latent  disease  which  had  probably  been  the 
source  of  the  "  subjective  odour."  ^  It  may  therefore  be 
inferred  that  even  those  hallucinations  of  ordinary  life 
which  are  seemingly  the  most  inexplicable  would  yield 
the  secret  of  their  origin  to  a  thorough  scientific  inves- 
tigation. That  the  explanation  of  these  hallucinations 
merely  requires  to  wait  for  further  knowledge  of  the 
persons  interested,  is  strikingly  evinced  by  a  fact  con- 
nected with  the  history  of  Dr.  Abercrombie's  work  on 
the  Intellectual  Powers.  In  the  earlier  editions  an 
account  is  given  of  some  inexplicable  hallucinations  to 
which  a  gentleman  of  sound  mind  was  subject;  but 
between  the  fourth  and  fifth  editions  of  the  work  the 
development  of  a  serious  cerebral  disorder  clearly  indi- 
cated the  source  of  the  hallucinations.^ 

*  Abercrombie's  Intellectual  Powers,  p.  284. 
=  lUd.,  p.  286. 

*  Maudsley,  Pathology  of  Mind,  pp.  376-377. 

*  See  p.  276,  13th  ed. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  305 

(B)  Illusions  are  distinguished  from  hallucinations 
by  the  fact  that  in  the  former  the  senses  are  not  at 
fault,  the  illusory  effect  arising  solely  from  the  erroneous 
intellectual  process  which  misinterprets  a  normal  im- 
pression of  sense.  In  the  first  chapter  of  this  Part, 
while  illustrating  the  formation  of  ordinary  perceptions, 
w^e  have  had  such  numerous  opportunities  of  noticing 
and  explaining  illusory  cognitions  of  this  sort  that  it  is 
unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  them  at  further  length  here. 
"\Ye  may  accordingly  proceed  to  describe  some  of  the 
most  familiar  states  of  consciousness  in  which  hallu- 
cinations and  illusions  hold  sway. 

§  2.  —  D J' earning. 

Among  the  facts  of  our  mental  life  which  derive  their 
peculiar  character  from  being  composed  mainly  of  illu- 
sory cognitions,  a  prominent  place  must  be  assigned  to 
dreams;  and  the  analysis  of  these  will  be  found  to 
furnish  the  fundamental  principles  on  which  a  large 
number  of  others  should  be  explained.  In  the  analysis 
of  dreaming  it  will  be  of  some  advantage  to  describe 
the  distinctive  peculiarfties  of  the  state  before  proceed- 
ing to  indicate  the  psychological  principles  which  fur- 
nish their  scientific  explanation. 

(A)  The  peculiarities  which  commonly  distinguish 
dream-fancies  from  those  of  waking  life  are  two.  The 
first  is  the  fantastic  combination  of  circumstances  by 
which  dreams  are  usually  characterised;  the  second  is 
the  irresistible  appearance  of  their  reality. 

I.  The  former  of  these  is  so  obtrusive  a  characteristic 
of  dreaming  that  in  our  waking  life  any  improbable 

20 


306  PSYCHOLOGY 

fancy  is  very  commonly  described  as  a  dream.  All 
the  ordinary  probabilities  of  the  real  world,  whether 
founded  on  internal  character  or  external  circumstances, 
are  set  at  naught  in  the  world  of  dreams.  In  fact,  the 
dreamer  creates  for  himself  a  world  which  is  governed 
by  laws  of  its  own.  The  only  laws  which  he  cannot 
set  aside  are  the  laws  of  his  own  mind.  But  it  must 
not  be  supposed  essential  to  a  dream  that  it  should  pos- 
sess this  fantastic  character.  In  familiar  experience 
dreams  are  often  marred  by  no  improbability  which 
would  render  them  impossible  as  real  events.  This 
fact,  though  at  first  sight  apparently  a  difficulty  in  any 
theory  of  dreams,  will  be  found  to  assist  in  their 
explanation. 

II.  The  second  characteristic  of  dreams  is  the  irre- 
sistible appearance  of  their  reality.  This  illusory 
reality  is  so  strong  that  it  is  not  weakened  by  any 
improbability,  however  extravagant.  The  strength  of 
the  illusion  is  also  strikingly  evidenced  by  two  analo- 
gous facts,  both  of  which  are  familiar  in  the  experience 
of  nearly  all  dreamers.  The  first  is  the  fact  that  often, 
as  the  real  world  breaks  in  upon  the  middle  of  a  dream, 
we  find  ourselves  in  doubt  for  a  moment  whether  the 
dream  is  not  a  reality  —  in  other  words,  which  is 
the  dream-world,  which  the  real.  Analogous  to  this  is 
the  other  fact,  that  often  a  real  event,  especially  if  it  has 
been  of  an  extraordinary  character,  seems  long  after- 
wards like  a  dream ;  and  indeed  most  men  have  probably 
been  in  doubt  at  times  with  reference  to  some  such  event, 
whether  it  was  a  dream  or  a  reality. 

The  same  remark,  however,  which  was  made  about 
the  former  peculiarity  of  dreams  must  also  qualify  this ; 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  307 

the  appearance  of  reality  is  by  no  means  absolutely 
essential  to  a  dream;  sometimes  we  are  conscious  that 
a  dream  is  unreal.  This  apparent  anomaly,  instead  of 
being  a  difficulty,  will  be  found  rather  to  assist  in  the 
explanation  of  dreams. 

(B)  In  proceeding  to  such  an  explanation  it  is  de- 
sirable to  bear  in  mind  that  the  course  of  thought  in 
sleep  as  well  as  in  waking  hours  is  governed  by  the  laws 
of  association.  If  you  fancy  any  event  or  scene  in  a 
day-dream,  its  details  must  all  be  suggested  in  accord- 
ance with  these  laws;  and  so  are  all  the  details  of  any 
event  or  scene  in  the  dreams  of  sleep.  It  is  desirable 
also  to  remember  that  a  sensation  requires  merely  some 
action  in  a  nerve;  and  if  this  action  can  be  produced 
by  any  internal  excitement  without  the  presence  of  an 
external  body,  the  same  result  will  follow  as  if  an 
external  body  were  there.  Such  "  subjective  sensa- 
tions "  have  been  already  noticed  in  the  preceding  section 
as  the  source  of  hallucinations. 

Keeping  these  facts  in  view,  we  are  prepared  to 
explain  the  characteristics  by  which  dreaming  is  dis- 
tinguished from  waking  consciousness.  The  explana- 
tion is  evidently  to  be  sought  in  the  peculiar  condition 
of  body  and  mind  which  sleep  implies.^  Sleep  is  a 
cessation  of  activity  in  the  brain,  as  well  as  generally 
in  the  nervous  system  to  which  the  brain  belongs.  The 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  make  up  our  waking  life 
imply  a  large  consumption  of  those  elements  of  food 
which  go  to  supply  nerve  and  brain.  After  this  has 
gone  on  for  a  considerable  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours, 

'  There  is  a  valuable  chapter  on  sleep  in  its  psychological  aspects  in 
the  recent  work  of  F.  W.  IT.  Myers  on  Ilumnn  Personality  and  its  Sur- 
vival of  Bodily  Death  (1903).     See  Chap.  IV. 


308  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  brain  and  nerves  have  spent  most  of  the  force  at 
their  disposal  and  do  their  V7ork  more  feebly.  You 
may  stimulate  them  for  a  time  by  tea,  coffee,  alcohol, 
tobacco,  agreeable  conversation,  exciting  work,  and  other 
artifices ;  but  at  last  they  cease  work  from  pure  exhaus- 
tion. The  nerves  of  hearing,  sight,  and  touch  are  no 
longer  affected  by  ordinary  sounds,  sights,  and  contacts ; 
all  thought,  all  consciousness,  fades  away. 

Xow  it  is  known  that  the  brain  becomes  comparatively 
bloodless  in  sleep,  while  there  is  a  partial  return  of 
blood  to  its  vessels  when  the  sleep  is  disturbed  by  the 
imperfect  consciousness  of  dreams;  and  the  quantity 
of  blood  in  its  vessels  becomes  greatly  increased  with 
the  perfect  restoration  of  consciousness  on  awaking. 
Dreaming  is  therefore  a  state  in  which  we  are  half 
asleep  and  half  awake,  —  sufficiently  awake  to  have 
some  consciousness,  but  sufficiently  asleep  to  be  unable 
to  control  its  direction.  In  this  we  have  an  explanation 
of  the  generally  admitted  fact  that  most  dreams  take 
place  at  the  transition  from  waking  to  sleep  or  from 
sleep  to  waking.  Virgil  places  at  the  former  stage  the 
pathetic  vision  of  Hector  in  a  dream  of  ^neas :  — 

"  Tempus  erat,  quo  prima  quies  mortalibus  aegris 
Incipit,  et  dono  divom  gratissima  serpit."  ^ 

But  this  stage  is  probably  the  less  common  period  of 
dreams.  In  normal  health  it  is  usually  a  more  rapid 
transition  than  the  other ;  we  lie  down  under  a  natural 
fatigue  of  nerve  and  brain,  and  soon  lapse  into  a  whole- 
some unconsciousness  which  is  not  easily  disturbed. 
But  after  a  few  hours'  refreshing  sleep  nerve  and  brain 

»  Aeneid,  II.,  268-269. 


ILLUSORY    COGmTIONS  309 

recover  their  vigour,  and  begin  to  respond  to  ordinary 
stimulants;  so  that  a  feeble  consciousness  is  readily 
excited,  which,  by  superficial  associations  and  indistinct 
comparisons,  may  evolve  a  dream. 

I.  Here,  then,  we  have  an  obvious  explanation  of  the 
first  characteristic  of  dreams,  their  ludicrous  improba- 
bility. The  state  of  the  dreamer  is  evidently  one  in 
which  the  mind  is  comparatively  torpid,  —  is  doing  little 
or  no  work. 

"  Dreams  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain."  * 

Now,  when  the  mind  is  doing  good  work,  we  do  not 
surrender  ourselves  to  every  idle  fancy  that  is  sug- 
gested; on  the  contrary,  we  resolutely  exclude  every 
thought  which  is  not  connected  with  the  work  of  the 
mind ;  w^e  control  the  direction  of  our  thoughts.  But 
in  a  torpid  or  inactive  state  of  mind  we  let  our 
thoughts  take  any  order  in  which  they  happen  to  be 
suggested.  Such  a  state  we  often  indulge  in  during  our 
waking  hours;  and  it  resembles  dreaming  so  obviously 
that  popular  language  calls  it  a  day-dreamy  or  by  the 
Trench  equivalent  of  reverie.  The  improbable  character 
of  the  pictures  with  which  we  allow  ourselves  to  bo 
amused  in  such  reverie  is  witnessed  by  the  fact  that  the 
man  who  indulges  in  them  is  said  to  be  building  castles 
in  the  air  or  chateaux  en  Espagne.  If  our  thoughts  can 
form  such  fantastic  combinations  even  during  our  wak- 
ing life,  when  we  never  lose  control  of  them  altogether,  is 
it  wonderful  that  they  run  into  an  utterly  lawless  riot 
when  the  torpidity  of  the  mind  leaves  them  undirected 
by  any  active  purpose? 

1  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  I.,  Scene  4. 


310  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  state  of  the  dreamer's  consciousness,  then,  is  one 
in  which  the  higher  function  of  thought  or  comparison, 
implying  (as  the  third  Part  of  this  Book  will  show) 
voluntary  control,  is  dormant,  and  only  the  more 
mechanical  function  of  association  active.^  After  the 
lengthy  analysis  of  our  perceptions,  it  need  not  be 
repeated  that  the  meaning  of  an  impression  on  any 
sense  depends  on  our  interpretation  of  it;  and  as  that 
interpretation  implies  a  somew^hat  complicated  intel- 
lectual effort  both  of  comparison  and  suggestion,  we 
cannot  be  astonished  that  it  is  beyond  the  sluggish  intel- 
lect of  the  sleeper.  As  a  dream  is  a  partial  disturbance 
of  sleep,  some  at  least  of  the  senses  are  sufficiently  roused 
to  stir  in  consciousness  sensations  which  are  generally 
so  obscure  as  to  be  all  the  more  easily  misinterpreted; 
and  the  misinterpretation  is  commonly  directed  by  any 
suggestion  that  happens  to  predominate  at  the  time. 
That  this  origin  of  dreams  is  no  mere  conjecture,  but  a 
familiar  fact,  is  implied  in  the  delicious  fancy  of  Queen 
Mab,  as 

^  It  is  one  of  the  fine  comparisons  of  Hegel  that  discovers  an  analogy 
in  waking  and  sleep  to  the  great  cosmic  phenomena  of  day  and  night. 
At  night  the  mere  mechanical  forces  on  which  the  existence  of  the 
earth  in  the  planetary  system  depends  continue  their  movements,  but 
the  subtler  forces  connected  with  the  calorific,  actinic,  and  optical 
action  of  light  cease ;  and  organic  life  in  plant  and  animal  is  affected 
thereby.  Leaving  the  plant  out  of  account,  we  find  that  in  the  animal, 
as  in  the  vast  cosmic  bodies  during  night,  It  is  only  the  forces  necessary 
to  existence  that  continue  during  sleep,  —  the  forces  of  organic  life. 
The  higher  forces  of  animal  life  —  sensibility  and  irritability  —  cease. 
Now  the  soul,  —  the  consciousness,  —  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  natural  phe- 
nomenon, has  an  analogy  with  the  other  phenomena  of  nature.  Its 
lower  functions  do  not  cease  in  sleep  ;  sensation,  and  even  ideas  that 
have  been  originally  the  result  of  intellectual  processes,  may  still  be 
excited  ;  but  they  are  arranged  solely  by  the  laws  of  suggestion,  not 
by  the  categories  of  the  understanding.  The  higher  function  of  reason 
—  comparison  —  by  which  sensations  are  interpreted  in  their  real  re- 
lations is  dormant.  Ideas  appear  merely  in  subjective,  fortuitous, 
superficial  association ;  things  lose  all  necrssary,  objective,  rational 
connection.     (See  Hegel's  Encyklopadie,  §  398.) 


ILLUSOEY    COGXITIOXS  311 

"  She  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love; 
O'er  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  courtesies  straight; 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees  ; 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream. 
Sometime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit; 
And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail, 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  a'  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice. 
Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  he  dreams  of  cutting  foreign  throats. 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five  fadoin  deep  ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear,  at  which  he  starts  and  wakes."  ^ 

If  we  took  the  necessary  trouble,  we  migiit  often,  without 
calling  in  the  aid  of  any  poetical  fiction,  trace  a  dream 
not  only  to  its  originating  sensation,  but  also  through 
the  suggestion  from  which  it  received  its  peculiar  shape. 
Thus  Dr.  Gregory  relates  that  in  earlier  life  he  had 
ascended  Mount  Vesuvius,  and  during  the  ascent  had 
felt  the  heat  of  the  mountain  on  his  feet.  Long  sub- 
sequently he  had  read  an  account  of  Mount  Etna, 
though  he  had  never  seen  it.  Some  time  afterwards 
he  went  to  bed  one  night  with  a  vessel  of  hot  water  at 
his  feet;  and  during  the  course  of  his  sleep  he  dreamt 
that  he  was  walking  up  Mount  Etna,  and  felt  the  ground 
under  his  feet  warm.  On  another  occasion  he  mentions 
that  he  had  read  an  account  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Ter- 
ritory which  gave  a  vivid  description  of  its  severe  cli- 
mate. One  night,  shortly  afterwards,  he  dreamt  of 
being  in  that  territory  and  suffering  intensely  from  the 
cold ;  he  awoke,  and  found  that  in  his  sleep  he  had 
kicked  the  bedclothes  off.^ 

*  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  I.,  Scene  4. 

"  Abercromble's  Inquiries  Concerning  the  Intellectuul  Poicers,  p.  201. 


812  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  obscure  sensible  impressions  which  thus  suggest 
fantastic  interpretations  in  the  torpid  mind  will  easily 
explain  those  horrors  of  dream-life  which  have  their 
source  in  the  various  painful  sensations  of  indigestion. 
To  such  obscure  impressions  also  can  be  referred  that 
large  class  of  horrid  dreams  which  go  by  the  name  of 
nightmare,  in  which  the  common  circumstance  is  an 
effort  to  do  something  with  the  feeling  of  inability  to  do 
it.  These  dreams  will  be  generally  found  to  arise  from 
impeded  respiration.  The  sleeper  is  lying  on  his  back 
or  face,  or  in  some  other  position  in  which  his  chest  can- 
not freely  expand  to  allow  a  full  inhalation ;  and  natu- 
rally, therefore,  he  has  a  dim  sensation  of  endeavouring 
to  perform  the  most  essential  of  the  vital  processes  while 
there  is  some  difficulty  in  its  performance  which  he 
cannot  overcome.  This  sensation  is  of  course  enhanced 
if  there  is  the  additional  oppression  arising  from  a 
flatulent  or  overloaded  stomach.  But  the  general  result 
is  the  same  in  all,  varied  only  according  to  the  habits  or 
circumstances  of  each  individual.^ 

Other  facts  of  dream-life  receive  a  similar  explana- 
tion. It  is  well  known,  for  example,  that  questions  ad- 
dressed to  a  dreamer,  especially  if  they  are  connected 
with  the  subject  of  his  dream,  will  often  elicit  answers 
which  show  that  the  question  has  been  heard,  and  has 
even  become  mixed  up  with  some  of  his  amusing  fancies. 
It  is  also  a  familiar  experience  of  many  that  they  can 
waken  at  a  fixed  hour  by  determining  upon  it  before 
going  to  sleep.     This  would  seem  to  imply  that,  notwith- 

*  It  is  worth  considering  whether  some  myths,  like  those  of  Tantalus, 
Sisyphus,  and  the  Danaids,  and  some  other  fancies  with  regard  to 
future  punishment,  may  not  have  originated  in  the  experience  of. 
nightmares. 


ILLUSORY    COG^^ITIOKS  313 

standing  the  torpid  state  of  the  sensibility  in  general,  a 
certain  degree  of  wakefulness  was  preserved,  sufficient 
to  keep  note  of  time  without  preventing  the  refreshment 
of  sleep ;  and  it  is  known  that  the  dominant  idea  of 
rising  at  a  particular  hour  occasionally  gives  shape  to  a 
dream. 

It  was  noticed  above  that,  though  dreams  generally 
exhibit  a  whimsical  character,  yet  this  is  by  no  means 
essential ;  for  the  fictions  of  dreaming  may  often  be  less 
strange  than  the  facts  of  real  life.  This  is  not  at  all 
inconsistent  with  the  theory  which  ascribes  the  improb- 
able caprices  of  dreaming  to  the  fact  of  the  mind  being 
in  such  a  dormant  state  that  it  is  unable  to  control  the 
direction  of  its  thoughts;  for  though  thoughts,  when 
uncontrolled,  may  run  riot,  yet  it  is  quite  possible  for 
them  to  take  a  perfectly  sober  course.  In  fact,  the 
subject  of  a  dream  may  sometimes  control  the  direction 
of  our  thoughts,  and  produce  thereby  a  concentration  of 
mind  of  which  we  are  incapable  amid  the  distractions 
of  the  waking  world.  As  a  result  of  this,  it  has  been 
the  testimony  of  several  distinguished  men  that  in  sleep 
they  have  seen  their  way  through  problems  which  had 
perplexed  their  waking  hours;  and  Coleridge  informs 
us  that  his  poem  Kuhla  Khan  was  composed  in  a 
dream.^ 

II.  There  still  remains  for  explanation  the  second 
peculiarity  of  dream  fancies,  the  irresistible  illusion  of 
their  reality.  This  peculiarity,  too,  must  be  attributed 
to  the  dormant  state  of  the  mind.     This  torpidity  of 


^  Several  facts  of  this  sort  are  related  by  Mr.  Dallas  In  The  Oay 
Science,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  2.''.li-2o4.  Others  are  given  by  Myers  In  Human 
Personality  and  its  Survival  of  Bodily  Deaths  §§  417-418. 


314  PSYCHOLOGY 

mind  implies  two  circumstances,  which  explain  why  the 
imagery  of  our  dreams  should  appear  so  real  in  compari- 
son with  any  imaginations  of  our  waking  consciousness. 

1.  The  first  of  these  circumstances  is  the  absence  of 
any  impressions  from  the  real  world  to  exhibit,  by  force 
of  contrast,  the  unreality  of  the  images  which  play  be- 
fore us  in  dreams.  That  the  want  of  this  contrast  has  to 
do  with  the  illusory  reality  of  dreams  must  appear  from 
the  fact  that  a  dream  is  instantaneously  dispelled  by  any 
violent  sensation,  such  as  a  loud  noise,  which  suddenly 
rouses  the  dreamer  to  waking  life.  It  is  an  interesting 
fact,  which  illustrates  the  same  effect,  that  spectral 
illusions  which  have  tormented  a  patient  in  a  darkened 
chamber  often  vanish  by  simply  letting  in  the  light  and 
revealing  thereby  the  realities  around. 

2.  A  second  circumstance  connected  with  the  condi- 
tion of  the  sleeper  also  accounts  for  the  illusory  reality 
of  his  dreams.  The  vividness  with  which  we  can  call  up 
an  image  of  anything  depends,  among  other  conditions, 
on  the  sense  through  which  the  image  was  first  received 
being  occupied  or  not  at  the  time.  It  is  difficult  to 
represent  distinctly  the  visual  appearance  of  anything  if 
the  eyes  are  at  the  moment  engaged  in  examining  some 
actual  object;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  many  people 
instinctively  close  the  eyes  during  intense  efforts  of 
thought  or  recollection.  It  is  equally  difficult  to  recall 
distinctly  a  tune  while  the  ears  are  being  assailed  with 
actual  music  or  loud  talk;  and  the  same  fact  is  notice- 
able in  the  case  of  the  other  senses.  It  is,  indeed,  for 
this  reason  that  we  can  generally  study  to  better  purpose 
amid  quiet  surroundings  and  familiar  scenes.  'Now  in 
sleep  the  senses  are  so  torpid  that  they  disturb  us  very 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  315 

little  with  impressions  from  the  outside  world  at  all; 
and  therefore  any  images  that  are  suggested,  being 
allowed  to  absorb  the  consciousness,  become  as  vivid  as 
if  they  were  produced  by  real  objects.  An  interesting 
result  occasionally  follows  from  this.  By  one  of  the 
Secondary  Laws  of  Suggestion  we  have  seen  that,  the 
more  vivid  an  idea  is,  it  becomes  the  more  powerfully 
suggestive;  and  therefore  it  sometimes  happens  that 
facts  are  suggested  in  a  dream  which  had  been  totally 
forgotten  in  waking  life.  Several  interesting  anecdotes 
are  told  of  persons  who  recovered  in  a  dream  important 
information  regarding  events  which  they  had  fruitlessly 
endeavoured  to  recollect  when  awake.-^ 

But  how  is  it  that  sometimes  a  dream  loses  its  decep- 
tive reality,  and  we  become  aware  that  it  is  a  dream? 
That  such  is  not  infrequently  the  case  must  have  been 
the  experience  of  most  dreamers;  and  there  have  been 
instances  of  men  tormented  by  nightmare  who  have 
succeeded  in  vanquishing  its  delusions  by  resolving,  as 
they  went  to  sleep,  that  they  would  treat  its  horrid 
fantasies  as  harmless  unrealities.  Dr.  Reid  relates 
that  in  his  early  life,  being  tormented  almost  every 
night  for  a  while  by  frightful  dreams,  he  resolved  to  try 
and  remember  that  his  terrors  were  unreal.  After  some 
'fruitless  eiforts  he  was  at  last  successful ;  and  "  often," 
he  says,  "  when  I  was  sliding  over  a  precipice  into  the 
abyss,  I  recollected  that  it  was  all  a  dream,  and  boldly 

»  Some  of  these  are  preserved  by  Abercrombie  (Inquiries  Concerning 
the  Intellectual  Powers,  pp.  205-211).  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes  relates  a 
story  of  a  lost  bond  having  been  recovered  by  its  owner  recollecting, 
during  the  excitement  of  drowning  from  which  he  was  saved,  the 
place  where  it  had  been  laid  (Mechanism  in  Thought  and  Morals,  p.  75). 
Other  remarkable  cases  are  related  by  Myers  In  Human  Personality, 
§§  414-41G,  with  Appendices. 


316  PSYCHOLOGY 

jumped  down."  ^  Such  effects  are  obviously  to  be  ex- 
plained from  the  circumstance  that  the  dreamer  is  not 
only  half  asleep,  but  also  half  awake,  and  that  he  tends 
either  to  relapse  into  the  unconsciousness  of  profound 
slumber  or  to  struggle  into  the  distinct  consciousness  of 
waking  life.  N^ow,  if  the  latter  should  be  the  course  of 
his  dream,  and  if  he  is  not  suddenly  startled  into  com- 
plete wakefulness,  there  will  often  be  a  stage  in  his 
dream-life  at  which  its  spectres  continue  to  hover  before 
his  mind,  but  he  is  suflBciently  aroused  to  be  perfectly 
conscious  of  their  spectral  nature.  It  will  generally  be 
found,  in  fact,  that  the  dreamer  wakens  inmiediately 
after  realising  that  his  dream  is  a  dream. 

§  3. — Hypnotic  States. 

The  term  hypnotic,  from  the  Greek  word  for  sleep, 
was  suggested  by  an  eminent  English  surgeon,  Mr. 
Braid,  to  describe  a  class  of  phenomena  which  have  their 
source  in  a  nervous  condition  resembling  sleep.  The 
affinity  between  these  phenomena  and  dreams  is  so  re- 
markable that  the  former  will  be  found  to  have  received 
the  chief  part  of  their  explanation  in  the  treatment  of 
the  latter.  At  the  same  time  hypnotic  phenomena  are 
so  interesting  in  many  respects  that  they  deserve  a  sepa- 
rate consideration.  We  shall  therefore  first  describe 
their  distinctive  peculiarities,  and  then  inquire  how 
these  may  be  explained. 

(A)  In  studying  the  characteristics  of  hypnotism,  we 
come  upon  one  that  is  fundamental. 

^  Letter  in  Stewart's  Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Thomas 
Reid,  near  the  end. 


ILLUSOKY    C0GNITI0:N^S  317 

I.  This  primary  characteristic  is  a  nervous  condition 
resembling  ordinary  sleep.  The  condition  may  be  in- 
duced either  involuntarily  by  some  disorder  of  the 
nervous  system,  or  voluntarily  by  some  artifice  of  a 
monotonous  characer,  such  as  is  often  adopted  for  the 
purpose  of  overcoming  sleeplessness. 

1.  Of  the  hypnotic  states  which  come  on  involuntarily 
the  most  familiar  is  common  somnambulism.  The  fact 
of  walking  in  sleep,  which  is  alone  expressed  by  this 
term,  although  a  common  phenomenon,  is  by  no  means 
an  essential  or  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  state. 
Frequently  it  consists  in  mere  talk  during  sleep,  and  at 
this  stage  can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  those 
dreams  in  which  the  dreamer  is  heard  speaking  at  times 
in  reply  to  questions.  An  interesting  case  in  point  is 
recorded  of  a  military  gentleman  whose  brother-officers 
often  amused  themselves  in  directing  the  course  of  his 
dreams  by  suggestions  whispered  into  his  ear.-^  This, 
though  given  as  a  case  of  ordinary  dreaming,  ought 
rather  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  somnambulism;  for  the 
subject  of  the  experiment  was  continually  roused  to 
action  under  the  impulse  of  his  suggested  dreams. 

But  there  are  also  instances  in  which  some  of  the 
most  astonishing  phenomena  of  somnambulism  are  ex- 
hibited without  the  patient  leaving  his  bed.  Such  is  the 
case  of  Agnes  Drummond,  than  which  there  is  perhaps 
nothing  more  marvellous  in  the  history  of  the  abnormal 
states  of  mind.  This  girl  had  evidently  suffered  some 
serious  injury  to  her  nervous  system  from  an  accident  in 
early  life.     The  effect  of  this  was  to  render  her  uncom- 

*  Abercromble's  Inquiries  Concerning  the  Intellectual  Powers,  pp. 
202-204. 


318  PSYCHOLOGY 

monly  stupid  in  waking  life,  but  subject  to  hypnotic 
attacks,  in  which  she  displayed  an  extraordinary  ability 
of  various  kinds.  While  in  an  unusually  profound  sleep 
she  was  often  heard  producing  with  her  mouth  a  skilful 
imitation  of  elaborate  musical  compositions  which  she 
had  heard  played  by  an  itinerant  fiddler,  or  discoursing 
with  great  beauty  of  language  and  illustration  on  every 
imaginable  subject.^ 

More  commonly,  however,  the  somnambulist  rises  in 
his  sleep  and  proceeds  to  perform  various  actions. 
Sometimes  the  motive  of  his  actions  is  indiscoverable ; 
but  often  they  are  such  as  he  was  occupied  with  during 
the  day.  The  farmer  ploughs  or  threshes,  or  does  some 
other  farm-labour.  The  schoolboy  sits  down  to  his 
task.  The  clerg^Tuan  writes  his  sermon ;  the  judge,  his 
decision ;  the  author,  a  part  of  the  book  on  which  he  is 
engaged.  The  man  of  science  works  at,  and  sometimes 
succeeds  in  solving,  the  problem  which  is  perplexing 
him  at  the  time. 

Some  patients  are  liable  to  paroxysms  of  an  hypnotic 
character  in  waking  life,  and  during  these  exhibit  all  the 
phenomena  characteristic  of  nocturnal  somnambulism. 
It  may  also  be  observed  that  some  of  the  essential  char- 
acteristics of  this  state  are  found  in  many  of  those 
morbid  social  phenomena  of  an  hysterical  nature  which 
were  often  epidemic  in  ancient  and  mediaeval  communi- 
ties, but  are  fortunately  disappearing  from  the  life  of 
modern  civilisation. 

2.  But  it  has  been  found  possible  to  induce  volunta- 
rily a  state  essentially  similar  to  ordinary  somnambu- 

^  Dugald  Stewart's  Works,  Vol.  X.,  pp.  cliii-clix.  See  also  Aber- 
crombie,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  232-235. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  319 

lism.  This  is  the  state  commonly  understood  by  the 
name  of  hypnotism.  Its  artificial  induction  renders  it 
capable  of  being  subjected  to  experiment,  and  gives 
therefore  the  higher  value  for  science. 

II.  It  is  evident  that  while  there  is  a  certain  resem- 
blance between  the  hypnotic  state  and  ordinary  sleep 
with  its  dreams,  there  is  also  a  marked  difference.  While 
dreaming  proper  is  a  passive  state  in  which  the  patient 
simply  allows  various  images  to  pass  uncontrolled 
through  his  consciousness,  the  hypnotic  patient  is  always 
active ;  and  there  is  therefore  a  propriety  in  the  expres- 
sion which  describes  somnambulism  as  "  a  dream  acted." 
How  is  this  to  be  more  specifically  defined  ?  It  seems 
that,  as  in  ordinary  sleep,  there  is  a  general  torpidity  of 
the  cerebro-spinal  system,  only  that  the  torpidity  of 
hypnotism  is  much  more  profound.  But  combined  with 
this  general  and  immovable  torpidity  of  the  cerebro- 
spinal system,  there  remains  an  abnormal  activity  in  cer- 
tain portions,  or  at  least  a  capability  in  certain  portions 
of  being  excited  to  abnormal  activity.  Accordingly  ideas 
are  able  to  take  an  extraordinary  hold  on  the  somnam- 
bulist's mind,  and  to  concentrate  his  whole  mental  and 
bodily  energy  in  a  degree  altogether  impossible  in  waking 
life. 

In  the  hypnotic  state,  therefore,  the  patient's  mind  is 
dominated  by  an  idea  or  set  of  ideas,  creating  an  irre- 
sistible conviction  that  he  does  or  does  not  experience 
certain  sensations,  that  he  can  or  cannot  do  certain 
actions.  In  ordinary  nocturnal  somnambulism  the 
dominant  ideas  are  suggested,  as  in  sleep,  by  obscure 
sensible  impressions  or  by  the  laws  of  association;  and 
it  is  noteworthy  that  the  mind  is  so  absorbed  in  the 


320  PSYCHOLOGY 

dominant  idea  that  attention  is  scarcely  ever  given  to 
any  suggestion  lying  wholly  out  of  its  sphere.  Still,  it  is 
possible  for  another  person  with  some  tact  to  control  the 
ideas  which  sway  the  somnambulist;  and  this  is  com- 
monly done  by  the  operator  in  artificial  hypnotism.  It 
appears  that  the  muscular  sense  is  that  by  which  the 
operator  can  most  easily  work  upon  his  subject;  and 
certainly  many  of  the  most  marvellous  phenomena  of  the 
hypnotic  state  are  due  to  an  almost  preternatural  exalta- 
tion of  muscular  sensibility  and  power. 

III.  An  additional  peculiarity  of  this  state  is  its  dis- 
connection with  the  ordinary  consciousness  of  waking 
life.     This  disconnection  appears  in  two  ways. 

1.  It  involves  an  oblivion  in  waking  life  of  what  has 
been  done  in  the  hypnotic  state.  The  oblivion  is  fre- 
quently total,  though  there  is  sometimes  a  very  vague 
reminiscence  of  something  having  taken  place.  But  in 
all  cases  the  oblivion  is  so  complete  as  to  constitute  a 
practical  separation  of  somnambulic  acts  from  the  per- 
sonality of  the  patient;  and  accordingly  in  more  than 
one  instance  homicides  have  been  successfully  defended 
on  the  ground  of  their  having  been  perpetrated  in  a  state 
of  somnambulism.^ 

2.  But  the  disconnection  of  hypnotic  and  ordinary 
mental  life  is  further  evinced  in  the  fact  that  with  the 
waking  oblivion  of  hypnotic  states  there  is  often  evi- 
dently a  reminiscence  in  one  such  state  of  what  has 
been  done  in  another. 

»  Dallas's  The  Gap  Science,  Vol.  I.,  p.  234  ;  O.  W.  Holmes's  Mech- 
anism in  Thought  and  Morals,  p.  41.  See  also  Annates  Medico-psycho- 
logiques  for  1881,  p.  468,  cited  in  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  November, 
1885,  p.  646  (Amer.  ed.).  It  is  still  a  moot  point,  however,  to  what 
extent  the  will  of  a  hypnotic  patient  can  be  perverted  in  opposition 
to  his  normal  moral  dispositions. 


ILLUSOEY    COGNITIONS  321 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  while  hypnotism  exhibits 
an  obvious  affinity  with  sleep  and  dreaming,  it  is  yet 
distinguished,  on  the  one  hand  by  a  completer  torpidity 
than  ordinary  sleep,  on  the  other  hand  by  a  more  active 
excitement  than  ordinary  dreaming;  and  this  extraor- 
dinary activity  in  one  part  of  the  system  combined  with 
extraordinary  torpidity  in  the  rest  produces  a  sort  of 
double  consciousness,  disconnecting  the  normal  from  the 
abnormal  mental  life  of  the  patient.  These  are  the 
phenomena  which  require  explanation  in  this  remarkable 
state  of  mind. 

(B)  The  marv^ellous  nature  of  many  of  the  phenom- 
ena exhibited  in  this  state  has  produced  such  an  impres- 
sion, not  only  on  the  popular  mind,  but  on  the  minds 
of  many  scientific  inquirers,  as  to  upset  their  usual 
habits  of  scientific  caution;  and  as  a  result,  various 
unscientific  hypotheses  have  been  suggested  to  account 
for  the  phenomena  either  by  some  occult  force  of  nature 
or  by  some  occult  operation  of  one  of  the  known  forces. 
Among  the  known  forces  of  nature  which  have  been 
called  in  to  account  for  the  phenomena,  magnetism  and 
electricity  take  the  chief  place,  the  theory  of  animal 
magnetism  being  specially  associated  with  the  name  of 
Mesmer.  But  some  plead  for  the  recognition  of  an 
agency  hitherto  unrecognised,  to  which  the  name  of 
psychic  force  has  been  given ;  while  the  Baron  von  Reich- 
enbach  imagined  the  effects  to  be  due  to  an  universally 
diffused  force,  which,  after  the  Teutonic  god  Odin,  he 
named  the  Od  or  Odylic  force.^  Though  some  of  these 
theories  still  find  advocates,  the  dominant  tendency  of 

*  A  sketch  of  various  theories  on  the  subject  will  be  found  In  Jas- 
trow's  Fact  and  Fable  in  Psychology,  pp.  171-235. 

21 


322  PSYCHOLOGY 

science  Is  to  recognise  indeed  the  extraordinary  charac- 
ter of  the  phenomena,  so  far  as  verified  by  trustworthy 
observation  and  experiment,  but  to  seek  their  explana- 
tion in  the  known  laws  of  mental  action,  rather  than  by 
the  hypothesis  of  occult  agencies,  or  occult  operations  of 
agencies  that  are  knowTi.  Our  object  will  therefore  be  to 
discover,  in  the  ordinary  mental  life  of  man,  phenom- 
ena sufficiently  resembling  those  of  hypnotism  to  warrant 
us  in  believing  that  both  are  due  to  the  same  causes. 

Now  it  is  evident,  at  the  outset,  that  a  prominent 
feature  of  the  hypnotic  state  is  the  fact  of  the  patient's 
mind  being  possessed  with  a  dominant  idea.  Accord- 
ingly, to  find  the  analogies  of  hypnotic  phenomena  in 
ordinary  mental  life,  we  must  observe  the  effects  which 
are  commonly  produced  by  the  mind  being  absorbed  in 
one  subject.  These  effects  have  been  already  in  some 
measure  referred  to,  where  mental  abstraction  was  ana- 
lysed, and  showTi  to  be  the  complement  or  reverse  of 
attention.  In  this  necessary  union  of  attention  with 
abstraction,  we  have  a  familiar  parallel  to  the  extraor- 
dinary concentration  of  the  somnambulist's  mind  on 
one  subject  along  with  his  equally  extraordinary  insen- 
sibility to  everything  else.  This  parallel  will  appear 
the  more  significant,  the  more  carefully  it  is  followed 
into  detail. 

In  the  first  place,  it  has  been  already  observed  that 
the  abstraction  which  is  the  necessary  counterpart  of 
concentrated  attention  often  reaches  the  extreme  form 
of  absent-mindedness;  and  authenticated  instances  of 
this  mental  condition  do  not  fall  very  fax  short  of  the 
torpor  which  the  somnambulist  displays  in  regard  to 
everything  beyond  the  range  of  his  dominant  ideas. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIONS  323 

But  it  is  the  other  side  of  these  phenomena  that 
chiefly  requires  to  be  considered  in  this  connection.  The 
effect  of  attention,  in  ordinary  life,  is  to  concentrate 
the  energy  of  an  individual  to  such  a  degree  that  he  is 
enabled  to  achieve  results  beyond  the  power  of  a  dis- 
tracted mind.  Now  these  results  are  sometimes  not 
altogether  out  of  proportion  to  those  which  flow  from 
the  intense  mental  concentration  of  the  somnambulist. 
Even  if  we  leave  out  of  account  the  great  achievements 
of  science  and  art  which  have  been  rendered  possible 
by  the  power  of  intense  concentration  on  the  part  of 
scientific  and  artistic  minds,  and  which  from  their 
originality  often  imply  intellectual  activities  of  a  more 
unusual  character  than  even  the  marvels  of  hypnotism, 
there  are  familiar  facts  in  the  humbler  mental  life  of 
every  day  which  give  an  insight  into  the  source  of  these 
marvels. 

The  intense  mental  concentration  of  the  hypnotic 
patient  often  assumes  the  form  of  an  overpowering 
belief  that  he  can  or  cannot  do  certain  actions.  The 
increased  ability  and  disability  which  are  thus  generated 
are  paralleled  by  the  well-known  effects  of  excessive 
confidence  and  diffidence  in  daily  experience.  These 
effects  are  realised  in  a  homely  form,  which  makes  them 
familiar  to  all  men,  in  games  of  skill.  Success  at  the 
outset  is  one  of  the  most  important  conditions  of  success 
at  the  close.  The  confidence  thus  awakened  in  the 
player's  mind  imparts  an  increased  firmness  to  nerve 
and  muscle,  enabling  him  to  direct  his  movements  with 
precision;  so  truly  has  it  been  said  of  those  who  make 
a  good  start,  — 

"  Hos  successus  alit;  possunt,  quia  posse  videntur."  ^ 
»  Aeneid,  V.,  231. 


324  PSYCHOLOGY 

On  the  other  hand,  an  unfortunate  slip  at  the  commence- 
ment of  a  game,  on  the  part  even  of  one  who  usually 
plays  well,  may  often  be  observed  creating  a  distrust  in 
one's  powers  —  a  feeling  of  anxious  timidity  —  which 
is  almost  sure  to  interfere  with  accuracy  of  stroke. 
This  effect  of  confidence  is,  in  truth,  similar  to  that 
which  is  produced  by  any  emotion  powerful  enough  to 
concentrate  an  individual's  energies  on  one  subject.  It 
is  thus  that  under  the  influence  of  high  enthusiasms 
men  become  capable  of  achievements  for  which  the 
tamer  motives  of  every-day  life  are  inadequate ;  and 
occasionally  a  human  career  is  blighted  by  a  single 
crime  to  which  the  criminal  might  never  have  been 
seduced  but  for  the  overmastering  temptation  of  a 
moment. 

The  irresistible  subjection  of  the  somnambulist's 
mind  to  a  dominant  idea  often  assumes  the  form  of 
a  belief  that  he  does  or  does  not  experience  certain  sen- 
sations. This  phenomenon  scarcely  requires  any  eluci- 
dation by  reference  to  other  spheres  of  mental  life,  after 
what  has  been  said  in  the  first  section  of  this  chapter 
on  the  hallucinations  and  illusions  to  which  even  the  sane 
mind  is  sometimes  subject.  Here  a  single  additional 
remark  may  appropriately  be  made  on  the  effect  of  mere 
imagination  in  creating  actual  sensations,  l^umerous 
instances  are  recorded  of  persons  being  made  to  feel 
sensations  of  almost  every  variety  under  the  influence 
of  strong  conviction,  and  such  instances  could  probably 
be  multiplied  from  the  experience  of  most  men.  It  is, 
in  fact,  not  an  uncommon  social  amusement  to  find 
sport  at  a  friend's  expense  by  making  him  the  victim 
of  some  harmless  hallucination;    and  any  one  may  by 


ILLUSORY   COGNITIONS  325 

an  experiment  of  this  sort  discover  how  easily  subjec- 
tive sensations  can  be  excited.^  The  ease  with  which 
a  pei:son  may  be  thus  victimised  is  of  a  piece  with 
the  power  which  the  mesmeric  operator  wields  over 
his  subject. 

Nor  is  the  disconnection  of  hypnotic  and  normal  con- 
sciousness without  a  parallel  in  our  ordinary  mental  life. 
The  oblivion  of  hypnotic  acts  in  waking  life  is  analogous 
to  the  difficulty  of  reinstating  at  will  moments  of  intense 
mental  absorption,  whether  in  intellectual  work  or  in 
emotional  outburst.  This  difficulty  is  probably  owing 
to  the  fact  that  all  such  absorption  involves  an  excessive 
waste  of  energy  which  is  essentially  destructive,  and 
that  the  destructive  nature  of  the  state  forbids  its  repro- 
duction even  in  the  fainter  form  of  memory.  It  is  from 
this  cause  that  human  character  often  presents  combi- 
nations apparently  the  most  incongruous.  For  the 
ecstasies  of  the  enthusiast,  however  ennobling  their 
influence  might  be,  cannot  be  recalled  with  sufficient 
distinctness  to  exert  that  influence  on  his  conduct;  and 
therefore  his  life  may  be  separated  into  two  parts,  which 
seem  not  only  quite  distinct,  but  even  antagonistic  to 
each  other.  A  fanatic  of  the  type  of  Robespierre  or 
a  devout  inquisitor  may  indulge  one  day  in  a  gush  of 
religious  fervour,  and  the  next  find  diabolical  satisfac- 

*  The  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Chalmers  relate  two  such  pleasantries,  In- 
tended to  exhibit  Imagination  overriding  sense.  In  one  the  victim  Is 
made  to  feel  the  taste  of  coffee,  in  another  the  smell  of  sulphur  (Vol.  I., 
pp.  191-193).  A  remarkable  case  is  known  to  me  of  a  farm  servant  who, 
treading  inadvertently  on  a  harrow,  saw  one  of  its  prongs  protruding 
through  the  upper  leather  of  his  boot.  "  My  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
have  got  lockjaw,"  and  fell  into  a  sort  of  tetanic  paroxysm.  He  was 
carried  In  this  state  Into  the  house,  his  boot  tenderly  pulled  off,  when 
it  was  found  that  the  prong  had  passed  without  hurting  him  between 
two  of  his  toes.  Yet  it  was  8ome  hours  before  he  could  free  himself 
from  the  terror  of  lockjaw. 


326  PSYCHOLOGY 

tion   in   a   butchery   at  which   healthy   human   nature 
stands  aghast.^ 

The  disconnection  of  hypnotic  and  normal  conscious- 
ness is  in  some  respects  also  illustrated  by  the  phenom- 
ena of  habitual  and  dexterous  actions.  These  exhibit 
an  accuracy  which  parallels  that  of  the  somnambulist's 
conduct,  —  an  accuracy  which  disappears  under  any 
attempt  at  conscious  direction  as  completely  as  the 
somnambulist's  increase  of  power  is  destroyed  by  the 
restoration  of  normal  consciousness.  There  is  also  a 
separation  in  consciousness  between  the  actions  that 
are  done  under  the  influence  of  habit  and  those  that 
are  governed  by  conscious  volition,  —  a  separation  so 
complete  that  we  often  go  through  a  long  series  of 
habitual  actions  without  being  able  to  recall  a  single 
detail  of  the  series.  Even  the  fact  that  a  patient  in 
one  hypnotic  state  can  recall  what  he  did  in  a  previous 
state,  —  this  connection  of  hypnotic  states  with  each 
other,  while  they  remain  disconnected  with  ordinary 
consciousness,  is  not  withoijt  an  analogue  in  the  phenom- 
ena of  habitual  actions.  For  it  is  often  observable  that 
if  we  break  down  in  the  performance  of  such  action, 
we  start  the  whole  series  afresh  with  better  prospects 
of  success;  that  is  to  say,  by  going  back  to  the  begin- 
ning, or  to  some  well-marked  point  in  the  series,  we 
endeavour  to  reinstate  the  condition  of  habitual  activity 
in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  proceed  to  the  end  of  the 
series  with  that  mechanical  accuracy  which  we  despair 
of  attaining  by  any  conscious  direction.  This  is  illus- 
trated not  only  in  ordinary  cases  of  repeating  by  rote, 

^  Some  striking  instances  of  such  incongruous  combinations  in  moral 
character  are  given  by  Mr.  Lecky  in  his  History  of  European  Morals^ 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  305-308. 


ILLUSORY    COGNITIO^^S  327 

but  still  more  strikingly  in  that  extraordinary  memory 
which  some  exhibit,  and  which  is  almost  always  of  a 
mechanical  character.  For  example,  the  scholarly 
Scottish  poet,  Leyden,  could  repeat  verbatim  anything, 
even  a  dry  legal  document,  by  reading  it  once.  But  he 
found  this  mechanical  memory  inconvenient;  for  if  he 
wished  to  recall  any  particular  point,  he  had  to  start 
from  the  beginning  and  repeat  the  whole  mentally  till 
he  came  to  the  passage  required.^  So  necessary  and 
so  effective  is  the  expedient  of  reinstating  the  whole 
of  the  associated  circumstances  upon  which  suggestion 
depends.  An  additional  illustration  of  this  is  afforded 
by  the  amusing,  but  significant,  fact  that  instances  are 
on  record  of  a  man  doing  an  action  when  drunk,  wholly 
unable  to  remember  it  when  sober,  but  recollecting  it 
at  once  on  getting  drunk  again.^ 

The  above  remarks  indicate  the  general  explanation 
of  hypnotic  phenomena  which  seems  to  be  demanded  by 
the  present  state  of  our  knowledge.  At  the  same  time 
it  must  not  be  concealed  that  there  are  many  particular 
details  which  are  far  from  having  received  a  complete 
psychological  explanation ;  and  on  its  physiological  side 
the  whole  subject  presents  still  a  wide  field  of  research 
for  cerebral  physiology.^ 

*  Abercromble's  Intellectual  Powers,  p.  47.  It  does  not  appear 
whether  Leyden's  memory  was  visual  or  auditory.  Both  types  are 
found,  and  at  times  in  an  extreme  mechanical  form,  though  the  auditory 
memory  seems  to  be  less  common  than  the  visual.  See  James's  Prin.- 
ciples  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  58-GO. 

*  Abercrombie,  Op.  cit.,  p.  2.'i8. 

■  On  the  whole  subject  of  hypnotism  In  its  psychological  significance 
Myers's  Human  Personality,  Chap.  V.,  is  worth  reading. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

GENERAL  NATURE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

THE  explanation  of  our  intellectual  life  would  not 
be  complete  if  we  did  not  attempt  to  generalise 
the  detailed  analyses  through  which  we  have  gone.  We 
have  traced  intelligence  gradually  evolving  out  of  asso- 
ciable  and  comparable  sensations  perceptions  of  indi- 
vidual objects,  out  of  associable  and  comparable  objects 
classes  of  those  that  resemble.  Then  we  have  seen  it 
evolving  processes  by  which  it  extends  our  knowledge 
from  individuals  to  classes  and  from  classes  to  individ- 
uals, with  a  consciousness  of  the  reason  for  the  extension. 
And  lastly,  we  have  followed  it  in  its  loftier  move- 
ments, through  the  philosophic,  the  artistic,  the  moral, 
and  the  religious  consciousness,  seeking  the  interpreta- 
tion of  isolated  particulars  in  the  light  of  the  universal 
order  which  they  express,  and  stripping  that  order  of 
its  dead  abstractness  by  finding  it  in  the  living 
particulars. 

To  sum  up,  there  is  thus  evolved  to  our  consciousness 
a  world  of  ohjects,  placed  over  against  ourselves,  extend- 
ing throughout  an  immeasurable  space,  and  undergoing 
alterations  during  a  limitless  time,  —  alterations  which 
are  produced  in  the  objects  by  each  other  in  consequence 
of  their  reciprocal  causality.  There  are,  therefore,  cer- 
tain  supreme   categories   under  which   the   intelligible 


GENEEAL    XATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    329 

world  is  thought,  and  which  are  indicated  in  the  terms 
italicised  in  the  preceding  sentence.     These  being  the 
universal  categories  of  the  intelligible  world,  their  inter- 
pretation   involves    the   interpretation    of    the    general 
nature  of  knowledge.     Consequently  we  find  that  the 
problem  of  the  ultimate  generalisations  of  psychology 
gathers  round  these  categories  and  their  implications. 
The  discussion  of  this  problem  carries  us  into  the 
most  controverted  field  of  our  science.     The  controversy 
over  this  field  has  been  perplexed  by  being  mingled 
with  a  philosophical  question  which,  though  having  an 
affinity  with  the  psychological,  still  in  strictness  lies 
wholly  beyond  its  sphere.    The  philosopher  inquires  into 
the  validity  of  the  categories  as  facts  in  the  real  exist- 
ence of  the  world.     To  the  psychologist,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  are  simply  facts  of  human  consciousness, 
which  call  for  scientific  explanation  as  far  as  the  pro- 
cesses of  science  can  be  of  service  for  this  purpose. 
Accordingly  these  universal  factors  of  intelligence  are 
now  to  be  examined  in  a  purely  psychological  aspect. 
Even  in  this  aspect  the  examination  has  furnished  a  sub- 
ject of  extensive  controversy.     Among  the  innumerable 
theories  which  the  controversy  has  called  forth,  there 
are  commonly  distinguished  two  general  tendencies  of 
speculation.     Without  attempting  to  describe  these  ten- 
dencies in  a  single  sentence,  it  may  be  said,  by  way  of 
preliminary  explanation,   that  one,   starting  from  the 
assumption  of  a  world  of  realities,  such  as  is  formed  in 
our  consciousness,  explains  all  factors  of  intelligence 
as  being  alike  products  of  these  realities.     The  other 
theory,  on  the  contrary,  starts  from  self-conscious  intel- 
ligence as  the  primary  fact  of  all  science,  sees  in  the 


330  PSYCHOLOGY 

realities  of  the  world  no  meaning  except  as  constructions 
of  intelligence,  and  therefore  refuses  to  find  in  these 
realities  the  source  of  intelligence  itself.  The  former 
of  these  two  tendencies  is  variously  named,  for  reasons 
which  will  appear  in  the  sequel.  Realism,  Empiricism, 
Sensationalism,  or  Sensualism;  the  latter  is  distin- 
guished by  such  names  as  Idealism,  Transcendentalism, 
Intuitionalism. 

As  a  psychological  theory,  Empiricism  took  a  peculiar 
shape,  especially  among  English  psychologists,  about 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  endeavoured 
to  explain  the  development  of  mental  life  out  of  sen- 
sations by  the  sole  process  of  association.  The  most 
complicated  phenomena  of  mind  came  thus  to  be  re- 
garded as  capable  of  being  analysed  into  groups  of 
associated  sensations.  The  theory  has  accordingly  come 
to  be  known  by  the  name  of  Associationism.  This 
peculiar  drift  was  given  to  sensationalistic  psychology, 
at  least  in  England,  mainly  by  Hartley's  Observations  on 
Man  (1749). 

A  little  more  than  a  century,  however,  after  Hartley's 
work  appeared  Associationism  came  to  be  modified  by 
the  scientific  impulse  received  from  Darwin's  Origin 
of  Species  (1859).  Prior  to  that  time  the  theory  had 
endeavoured  to  explain  the  evolution  of  mental  life  by 
associations  formed  within  the  lifetime  of  each  indi- 
vidual.^    But  as  soon  as  Darwin's  theory  came  to  be 

»  This  position,  in  fact,  was  still  maintained  by  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill  (1806- 
1873),  and  the  student  of  his  writings  will  do  well  to  bear  in  mind 
that  his  philosophy  remained  essentially  unaffected  by  the  new  doctrines 
of  Evolutionism.  Even  Professor  Bain's  two  great  works,  The  Senses 
and  the  Intellect  (1855)  and  The  Emotions  and  the  Will  (1859),  at  least 
in  their  earlier  editions,  continue  to  represent  the  general  position  of 
the  old  Associationism. 


GENERAL    l^ATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    331 

applied  to  man,  it  led  to  the  abandonment  of  this  limi- 
tation; and  now  evolutionary  psychologists  sometimes 
speak  of  the  futility  of  the  old  Associationism  in  lan- 
guage as  severe  as  was  ever  used  by  its  idealistic  oppo- 
nents. But  that  futility  they  ascribe  entirely  to  one 
defect  in  the  theory.  Not  realising  the  slo^vness  of 
the  processes  by  which  nature  evolves  her  products  in 
general,  nor  the  radical  nature  of  the  revolutions  which 
she  can  bring  about  by  a  series  of  innumerable  changes, 
of  which  each  by  itself  may  be  so  infinitesimal  as  to 
escape  notice,  the  old  Associationists  failed  to  recognise 
the  length  of  time  required  to  develop  the  complicated 
thoughts  and  sentiments  and  purposes  of  the  human 
mind.  Nor  could  they  explain  the  fact  that  many  of 
these  complicated  phenomena  spring  into  conscious 
activity  at  once,  on  the  first  occasion  offered  by  experi- 
ence for  their  manifestation,  apparently  without  requir- 
ing any  process  of  a  year,  or  even  an  hour,  for  their 
development.  But  the  evolutionist  contends  that  this 
difficulty  is  entirely  removed  whenever  we  extend  the 
process  of  mental  development  back  into  the  vast  period 
of  man's  past  history,  and  also  into  the  vaster  period 
during  which  simpler  forms  of  mental  life  were  evolved 
among  the  lower  animals. 

Let  it  be  admitted  that  this  new  departure  of  the 
associational  school  takes  the  edge  off  one  of  the  weapons 
that  used  to  be  wielded  with  success  against  its  earlier 
teaching.  It  still  remains  a  question,  and  it  is  the 
most  essential  question  involved,  whether  the  process  of 
association  could  produce  the  effects  ascribed  to  it, 
whatever  length  of  time  may  be  allowed  for  its  operation. 
An  infinite  time,  it  has  been  said,  is  not  enough  for  an 


332  PSYCHOLOGY 

impossible  task;  and  you  do  not  make  the  evolution 
of  certain  mental  phenomena  by  association  any  more 
intelligible  or  probable  by  giving  thousands  of  ages  to 
the  work,  if  the  evolution  in  its  very  nature,  involves 
something  more  than  association. 

Now  the  analyses  carried  out  in  the  preceding  chapters 
have  shown  at  every  step  that  not  only  do  sensations 
come  to  be  associated  by  similarity  and  contiguity,  but 
that  they  are  also  compared  with  one  another,  so  that 
their  mutual  relations  do  not  remain  unknown  bonds 
of  association,  but  enter  into  consciousness  as  known 
facts.  Thus,  as  we  have  seen  already,  all  knowledge 
is  a  knowledge  of  relations.  This  fact  is  commonly 
embodied  in  the  form  of  what  is  called  the  doctrine  of 
the  Relativity  of  Knowledge.  This  doctrine  is  often 
imperfectly  understood,  and  therefore  it  is  important 
that  its  full  purport  should  be  clearly  indicated.  There 
are,  in  fact,  two  distinct  aspects  in  w^hich  the  doctrine 
is  interpreted;  and  it  is  essential  to  scientific  accuracy 
that  the  two  should  not  be  confounded.  Knowledge  is, 
in  the  first  place,  a  relation  between  a  subject  and  an 
object,  between  a  knower  and  a  thing  known.  But  not 
only  must  the  object  known  be  related  in  consciousness 
to  the  subject  knowing ;  it  must  also,  in  the  second  place, 
be  related  to  other  objects.  That  is  to  say,  it  must  be 
identified  with  those  which  it  resembles,  and  discrimi- 
nated from  those  with  which  it  differs. 

It  is  evident  that  the  relativity  of  knowledge  has  an 
important  bearing  on  the  theory  of  Associationism.  If 
that  theory  gives  an  adequate  account  of  conscious  life, 
there  can  be  no  phenomena  in  consciousness  but  sensa- 
tions associated  in  different  groups.     Consequently  the 


GENERAL   NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    333 

problem  before  us  reduces  itself  to  the  question  whether 
every  phenomenon  in  consciousness,  however  compli- 
cated it  may  be,  appears  on  analysis  to  be  simply  a  sum 
of  sensations.  It  can  scarcely  be  denied  that  in  many 
cases  such  an  analysis  seems  obviously  impossible.  The 
relations  existing  between  sensations  are  something 
quite  distinct  from  the  sensations  related.  No  mere 
repetition  of  a  sensation,  even  in  infinitely  varying 
associations,  could  ever  give  me  the  consciousness  that 
it  resembles,  or  differs  from,  another  sensation.  Resem- 
blance and  difference  are  facts  which  cannot  be  seen  or 
heard,  cannot  be  tasted  or  touched,  or  felt  by  any  other 
form  of  physical  sensibility. 

This  defect  of  Associationism  is  implicitly  admitted 
in  a  doctrine  which  has  grown  up  with  the  progress  of 
chemistry  in  the  nineteenth  century.  That  progress  has 
made  the  ideas  of  chemical  physics  as  familiar  as  were 
those  of  mechanical  physics  before.  Accordingly  it  oc- 
curred to  some  of  the  associational  psychologists  in  the 
early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  that  the  proper  anal- 
ogy for  the  mental  process  of  association  is  to  be  found 
in  chemical  rather  than  mechanical  combinations.  Just 
as  in  a  chemical  compound  the  uniting  elements  seem 
to  disappear,  producing  a  new  substance  with  properties 
quite  different  from  their  own,  so,  it  was  contended, 
from  the  association  of  sensations  there  may  result  a 
mental  compound  so  entirely  new  that  the  sensations  by 
whose  association  it  is  produced  can  no  longer  be  recog- 
nised. This  doctrine  opens  a  very  large  question  with 
regard  to  the  whole  philosophy  of  nature.  It  assumes 
evidently  that  the  evolution  of  nature,  in  the  forms  of 
chemism  and  organism,  as  well  as  of  mechanism,  is 


334  PSYCHOLOGY 

in  reality  nothing  more  than  a  combination  of  atomic 
elements.  Xow,  without  attempting  the  discussion  of 
this  question  in  its  universal  implications,  it  is  surely 
sufficient  for  our  purpose  to  point  out  that  the  facts  of 
chemism  are  not  obviously  explained  on  such  an  assump- 
tion. If,  for  example,  in  combining  an  atom  of  oxygen 
with  two  of  hydrogen  nature  were  capable  of  no  opera- 
tion but  that  of  bringing  the  atoms  into  a  new  collocation 
or  a  new  mode  of  motion,  they  would  still  remain  merely 
atoms  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen  arranged  or  moving  in 
a  different  manner.  But  when  at  a  certain  temperature 
the  phenomena  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen  vanish,  and  the 
phenomenon  of  water  takes  their  place,  it  is  only  an 
inexactness  of  thought  incompatible  with  science  that 
attempts  to  formulate  the  procedure  as  nothing  more 
than  a  peculiar  collocation  or  a  peculiar  movement  of 
the  atoms  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen.  Instead,  therefore, 
of  assuming  that  by  this  analogy  the  processes  of  mental 
life  can  be  reduced  to  a  sort  of  mechanical  association, 
it  seems  as  if  scientific  thought  demanded  rather  the 
conclusion  that  something  more  than  such  association 
is  already  involved  in  the  phenomena  of  chemical  action. 
It  may  be  that  nature,  even  in  her  simplest  forms,  is 
perpetually  giving  birth  to  what  may  in  a  certain  sense 
be  called  new  creations  as  being  more  than  the  sum  of 
antecedent  phenomena. 

But  even  if  this  consideration  be  waived,  the  analogy 
implied  in  the  theory  of  mental  chemistry  fails  in  an 
essential  feature.  In  a  case  of  chemical  combination 
it  is  true  that  in  a  certain  sense  the  combining  elements 
disappear;  but  in  another  sense  they  do  not.  For  their 
continued  presence  in  the  combination  can  always  be 


GENEKAL   IS^ATURE   OF   KNOWLEDGE    335 

made  evident  by  methods  of  analysis  at  the  disposal  of 
the  chemist,  —  methods  so  exact  as  to  establish  the  gen- 
eral law  that  there  is  no  loss  of  quantity  either  in  the 
composition  or  in  the  decomposition,  that  even  in  the 
chemical  changes  of  the  material  world  its  elementary 
constituents  are  completely  conserved.  But  nothing 
analogous  to  this  can  be  evinced  in  the  so-called  mental 
chemistry.  There,  by  hypothesis,  the  atoms  of  mental 
life  —  the  elementary  sensations  —  disappear ;  but  there 
is  no  psychological  process,  like  that  of  chemical  anal- 
ysis, by  which  the  associated  sensations  can  be  recovered, 
and  their  contributions  to  the  complex  mental  state  made 
evident. 

This  will  appear  more  clearly  in  the  examination  of 
those  categories  of  knowledge  to  which  attention  was 
drawn  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  But  before 
proceeding  to  this  examination  it  will  be  helpful  to 
explain  a  number  of  terms  that  are  of  frequent  use  in 
the  discussion  of  the  subject. 

1.  The  term  Intuition,  from  which  one  of  the  above 
systems  receives  its  name,  expresses  etymologically  the 
act  of  looking  upon  (or  into?)  anything.  As  we  seem 
to  gain  an  immediate  knowledge  of  things  by  looking 
at  them,  intuition  is  very  commonly  applied,  in  general 
literature,  to  any  cognition  which  is  given  in  a  sudden 
flash  of  consciousness  without  the  intermediation  of  a 
lengthy  process  of  reasoning.  Now,  if  there  are  any 
knowledges  involved  in  the  very  nature  of  knowledge 
itself,  they  cannot  be  the  product  of  any  cognitive  pro- 
cess ;  for  without  them  the  process  would  itself  be  im- 
possible.    For  that  reason  they  are  called  intuitions. 

2.  Such  knowledges   are  also  said  to  be   transcen- 


336  PSYCHOLOGY 

dental.  They  do  not  take  co-ordinate  rank  with  other 
factors  of  knowledge,  which  are  merely  adventitious. 
As  conditions  essential  to  the  very  possibility  of  knowl- 
edge, they  may  be  said  to  transcend  all  its  adventitious 
factors. 

3.  A  priori  is  another  expression  applied  to  such 
knowledges,  especially  since  the  time  of  Kant;  while 
all  other  constituents  of  our  knowledge  are  named  a 
posteriori}  A  cognition  a  priori  is,  literally,  one  that 
proceeds  from  what  is  prior,  as  an  a  posteriori  cognition 
proceeds  from  what  is  posterior.  It  is  on  this  account 
that  arguments  have  been  distinguished  as  a  priori  or 
a  posteriori  when  they  proceed  from  cause  to  effect  or 
from  effect  to  cause;  for  the  cause  is  naturally  prior. 
If  I  know  an  effect  —  a  fact  or  thing  done  —  from 
seeing  it  done,  I  know  it  from  what  comes  last  in  regard 
to  that  thing,  —  from  its  ultimate  accomplishment.  My 
knowledge  is  therefore  a  posteriori.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  I  know  a  fact  before  seeing  it  done,  I  know  it  from 
some  source  prior  to  the  fact.  My  knowledge  is  there- 
fore a  priori. 

The  former  kind  of  knowledge  is  often  spoken  of 
as  experience,  l^ow  experience  is  literally  trial.  When 
we  observe  a  fact  as  it  actually  happens,  we  may  be 
said  to  have  found  it  out  by  trial;  and  therefore  our 
knowledge  of  it  is  appropriately  described  as  experien- 
tial^ or  by  the  Greek  equivalent  empirical. 

Much  of  the  knowledge  on  which  we  act  every  day 
is  a  priori  in  a  certain  sense.  While  I  am  writing,  I 
have  not  yet  tried  the  ink  that  is  at  the  moment  on 

^  The  Germans  have  even  made  these  expressions  into  reCTlar  adjec- 
tives, as  we  might  do  by  adopting  the  forms  aprioric  and  aposterioric. 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    337 

my  pen;  but  I  know  a  priori  that  it  will  leave  a  per- 
manent mark  on  paper.  Still,  this  knowledge,  which 
relatively  to  these  drops  of  ink  is  a  priori,  is  not  abso- 
lutely so.  It  is  based  on  knowledge  previously  acquired 
by  experience,  —  by  trying  similar  ink.  As  far  as  such 
cases  are  concerned,  therefore,  it  remains  a  question 
whether  there  is  any  knowledge  that  is  absolutely  a 
priori. 

4.  Various  other  terms  are  applied  to  a  priori  cog- 
nitions, describing  the  same  characteristic  from  differ- 
ent points  of  view,  (a)  They  are  called  pure  because 
they  are  derived  from  the  intrinsic  nature  of  intelli- 
gence without  the  admixture  of  anything  extraneous. 
(6)  They  are  therefore  to  be  viewed,  not  as  exotics 
transplanted  into  the  mind  from  some  foreign  source; 
they  are  rather  native,  innate  (inborn),  (c)  On  that 
account  they  must  also  be  conceived  to  be  at  the  origin 
of  all  cognition,  to  be  original,  (d)  As  essential  to 
the  possibility  of  cognition,  they  are  further  spoken  of 
as  necessary;  and  (e),  being  necessary  to  intelligence, 
they  must  be  found  in  all  minds,  —  that  is,  they  are 
universal. 

5.  Such  cognitions,  being  common  to  all  men,  are 
sometimes  described  as  together  constituting  the  Com- 
mon Sense.  This  expression  w^as  brought  into  special 
prominence  in  the  literature  of  British  philosophy  by 
the  Scottish  School ;  and  the  student  will  find  a  learned 
justification  of  the  term,  along  with  much  interesting 
information  about  other  terms  of  kindred  meaning,  by 
the  greatest  representative  of  the  school.  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  in  his  edition  of  Reid^s  Works,  Note  A,  §  5. 

6.  The  distinction  dra^vn  between  Reason  and  Under- 

22 


338  PSYCHOLOGY 

standing  has  some  interest  in  the  present  connection. 
Both  terms  are  often  employed  for  intelligence  in 
general,  or  at  least,  as  already  mentioned,^  for  the 
higher  process  of  intelligence,  namely,  comparison. 
But  along  with  this  general  meaning,  Understanding  is 
often  used,  in  a  special  sense,  to  designate  intelligence 
considered  merely  as  constructing  cognitions  of  an 
empirical  and  particular  nature,  while  Reason  is,  in 
contrast,  applied  to  intelligence  as  furnishing,  by  its 
own  nature,  those  a  priori  principles  which  form  the 
supreme  categories,  the  highest  unifications  of  all  knowl- 
edge. The  further  explanation  of  this  distinction,  with 
the  modifications  which  it  has  received  from  different 
^\Titers,  would  lead,  however,  into  controversies  of  a 
philosophical  nature.  It  need  only  be  added  that,  what- 
ever distinctions  of  this  kind  may  be  recognised,  they 
must  not  be  conceived  as  breaking  up  the  essential  unity 
of  self-conscious  intelligence;  for  it  is  in  virtue  of  this 
unity  that  intelligence  forms  the  supreme  categories 
that  give  a  structure  to  all  experience. 

We  may  now  proceed  to  the  examination  of  these 
categories. 

§  1.  —  Self -Consciousness. 

The  previous  chapters  have  described  the  evolution 
of  our  knowledge  through  its  various  stages.  From  this 
description  it  appeared  that  the  very  earliest  step  in 
forming  the  simplest  perception  is  the  consciousness  of 
a  sensation.  This  means  that  the  sensation  is  no  longer 
a  purely  subjective  state,  in  which  the  sentient  being 
is  himself  absorbed;  it  must  have  become  an  object  of 

»  See  above,  Book  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  II. 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    339 

knowledge,  to  be  compared  with  others,  —  to  be  identi- 
fied and  discriminated.  But  this  objectifying  of  a 
sensation  implies  that  it  is  projected  from  me:  in  this 
act  I  become  conscious  of  something  which  is  not  I ; 
and  the  consciousness  of  that  which  is  not  I  is  the 
consciousness  at  the  same  time  of  myself.  Self-con- 
sciousness, therefore,  is  involved  in  the  very  beginning 
of  knowledge. 

In  seeking  a  scientific  theory  of  self-consciousness 
there  are  a  few  facts  which  must  be  noted  at  the  outset 
as  requiring  explanation  on  any  theory. 

I.  In  a  certain  sense  self-consciousness  is  a  gradual 
evolution  of  mental  life.  Even  after  the  faculty  of  lan- 
guage has  been  evolved  it  may  be  observed  that  children 
speak  of  themselves  in  the  third  person.  This  fact, 
indeed,  has  been  pressed  too  far  in  order  to  prove  the 
late  evolution  of  self-consciousness.  It  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  the  child  does  not  become  conscious  of  him- 
self before  he  adopts  the  habit  of  using  the  first  personal 
pronoun.  For  in  the  early  months  of  his  life,  before 
self-consciousness  is  clearly  manifested,  his  friends  natu- 
rally never  address  him  in  the  second  person.  Knowing 
that  he  can  but  imperfectly  understand,  if  he  can  under- 
stand at  all,  what  is  said,  even  in  his  presence  they 
speak  rather  of  than  to  him,  —  that  is  to  say,  they 
speak  to  him  in  the  third  person;  and  this  practice 
they  continue  long  after  it  must  be  obvious  that  he  would 
understand  the  second  person  equally  well,  just  as  they 
often  continue  his  mispronunciations  and  grammatical 
solecisms.  Accordingly  it  is  natural  that  when  he  comes 
to  the  use  of  speech,  he  should  retain  the  forms  which 
he  has  been  accustomed  to  hear  others  employ  in  speak- 


340  PSYCHOLOGY 

ing  to  him  as  well  as  of  him.  This  peculiarity  in  the 
language  of  children,  therefore,  must  not  be  taken  as 
implying  that  they  have  not  yet  attained  self -conscious- 
ness. Still,  it  is  obvious  that  self-consciousness  is  not 
developed  at  birth,  but  makes  its  appearance  only  a 
considerable  period  afterwards. 

"  The  baby  new  to  earth  and  sky, 

What  time  his  tender  palm  is  prest 
Against  the  circle  of  the  breast, 
Has  never  thought  that  '  this  is  I '  : 

"  But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much, 
And  learns  the  use  of  *  I '  and  '  me,' 
And  finds  '  I  am  not  what  I  see. 
And  other  than  the  things  I  touch. '*'i 

This  fact  in  the  mental  evolution  of  the  individual 
seems  to  have  its  analogue  in  the  mental  evolution  of 
the  race.  In  early  stages  of  civilisation  apparently  the 
consciousness  of  distinct  individuality  is  but  imperfectly 
evolved,  and  consequently  the  moral  sense  of  individual 
responsibility  is  more  or  less  completely  absorbed  in  the 
responsibility  of  the  family  or  tribe  to  which  an  indi- 
vidual belongs. 

II.  Self-consciousness  may  be  distorted  in  various 
ways. 

1.  It  may  undergo  a  complete  transmutation.  The 
real  self  may  be  obliterated,  and  an  imaginary  self  may 
take  its  place  in  consciousness.  This,  in  fact,  is  a  very 
common  form  of  insanity.  Every  large  asylum  con- 
tains patients  who  imagine  themselves  to  be  persons 
of  eminence  in  past  or  contemporary  history.  Legends 
of  the  type  of  the  Wandering  Jew,  whatever  their  ori- 

^  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  45. 


GENERAL   :N'ATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    341 

gin,  have  probably  been  perpetuated  by  their  seizing 
upon  the  distracted  thoughts  of  disordered  minds,  and 
thus  giving  the  whole  conscious  life  a  characteristic 
transformation. 

Sometimes  an  insane  patient  falls  under  the  delusion 
of  being  one  of  the  lower  animals.  It  seems  probable  that 
the  superstition  of  the  were-wolf  may  have  originated 
in  such  distortions  of  mental  life.  The  patient  himself 
in  lucid  intervals  would  naturally  declare  that  he  had 
been  transformed  into  a  wolf ;  and  much  of  his  conduct 
would  be  accepted  by  a  superstitious  society  as  proving 
his  allegation. 

2.  Akin  to  this  metamorphosis  of  personality  is  the 
phenomenon  of  mediumisrn  or  possession.  This  does  not 
imply  any  permanent  derangement  of  mind,  but  merely 
a  temporary  abnormal  condition,  such  as  is  commonly 
called  h'ance.  Apparently  ancient  Pagan  oracles  were 
in  most  cases  delivered  by  a  priest  or  priestess  in  a  state 
of  abnormal  excitement  speaking  as  if  inspired  or 
possessed  by  the  local  god.  At  the  present  day  also, 
after  making  all  necessary  allowance  for  the  deception 
of  mercenary  charlatans  preying  upon  human  credulity, 
there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  some  persons  in  a 
state  of  trance  do  really  speak  or  write  as  if  they  were 
the  mediums  of  utterance  for  other  personalities. 

III.  A  third  phenomenon  to  be  noticed  in  this  con- 
nection is  that  disunion  of  self-consciousness  which  is 
sometimes  described  as  alternating  personality.  In  this 
mental  condition  the  patient  retains  ordinarily  the 
normal  consciousness  of  his  real  personality,  but  falls 
at  intervals  into  the  illusion  of  being  another  person, 
speaking  and  acting  as  such.     One  instance  is  on  record 


342  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  a  woman  whose  conscious  life  represented  alternately 
even  three  distinct  selves. 

All  these  phenomena,  however,  are  of  a  more  or  less 
morbid  character,  and  the  investigation  of  them  belongs 
to  pathology  rather  than  psychology.-^  The  fact  of  im- 
portance for  us  at  present  is,  that,  however  perverted 
self-consciousness  may  be  from  its  normal  form,  there 
must  always  be  a  consciousness  of  self  even  in  the  worst 
perversion.  It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  there  is  no 
intelligent  consciousness  without  self -consciousness.  In 
other  words,  self-consciousness  is  not  so  much  an  essen- 
tial factor  of  intelligence  as  rather  intelligence  itself. 
It  cannot  therefore  be  a  product  of  processes  of  intelli- 
gence, themselves  products  of  non-intelligent  forces ;  for 
processes  of  intelligence  without  self -consciousness  would 
be  processes  of  intelligence  without  intelligence,  and  the 
forces  producing  processes  of  intelligence  would,  though 
non-intelligent  themselves,  be  intelligible,  and  an  intelli- 
gible system  of  forces  presupposes  an  intelligence  to 
which  it  is  related.  Still,  Empiricists  have  endeavoured 
to  explain  self-conscious  intelligence  as  merely  one 
among  the  innumerable  products  of  the  universal  forces, 
which  itself  construes  into  intelligible  system.  It  is 
therefore  necessary  to  consider  this  theory.  Recent  ex- 
positions will  be  found  in  Mill's  Examination  of  Ham- 
ilton's Philosophy,  Chap.  XII. ;  Bain's  Emotions  and 
Will,  Note  on  Subject  and  Object  at  the  end  of  the 
volume;  Spencer's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  VII., 
Chaps.    XVI.-XVII.      The   following   statement   con- 

^  On  the  various  distortions  of  self-consciousness  an  accumulation  of 
interesting  facts  will  be  found  in  Myers's  Human  Personality  and  its 
Survival  of  Bodily  Death,  Chap.  II.  See  also  James's  Principles  of 
Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  375-400. 


GENERAL   NATURE   OF   KNOWLEDGE    343 

tains  the  salient  points  of  the  theory,  the  language 
of  Mr.  Mill  being  generally  adhered  to  as  closely  as 
possible. 

We  have  no  conception  of  mind  itself;  we  neither 
know  nor  can  imagine  it,  except  as  represented  by  the 
succession  of  feelings  which  are  called  states  of  mind. 
Nevertheless,  our  notion  of  mind  is  the  notion  of  a 
permanent  something,  contrasted  with  the  perpetual  flux 
of  mental  states  which  we  refer  to  it ;  but  the  something 
which  we  thus  figure  as  remaining  the  same  while  its 
states  change  resolves  itself  into  a  permanent  possibility 
of  these  states.  This  permanent  possibility  of  feeling 
which  forms  my  notion  of  myself  is  distinguished  from 
those  permanent  possibilities  of  sensation  which  form 
my  notion  of  external  objects.  The  latter  are  permanent 
possibilities  of  sensation  only,  while  the  former  includes 
all  kinds  of  feeling;  and,  what  is  more  important,  the 
former  is  a  possibility  to  me  alone,  the  latter  to  other 
beings  as  well.  The  distinction  has  also  —  at  least  so 
Dr.  Bain  insists  —  a  certain  correspondence  with  the 
distinction  between  the  ideal  and  the  actual,  between 
imagination  and  reality. 

To  account  for  this  notion  of  self  it  is  postulated 
that  the  mind  is  capable  of  association  and  of  expecta- 
tion. By  these  principles  the  actual  feelings  of  the 
present  become  associated  with  the  once  actual  feelings 
of  the  past  and  with  possible  feelings  expected  in  the 
future ;  and  the  aggregate  thus  formed  is  the  something 
permanent  amid  changes  of  feeling,  —  the  self  which  we 
figure  as  remaining  the  same  while  its  manifestations 
vary. 

This  theory  suggests  some  obvious  crLticisms. 


344  PSYCHOLOGY 

I.  Exception  may  surely  be  taken  to  the  initial 
limitation  of  our  knowledge  of  self.  Yon  may  predicate 
what  you  like  about  stages  of  mental  life  prior  to  the 
origin  of  self-knowledge,  or  of  any  other  kind  of  knowl- 
edge, whether  in  the  human  infant  or  in  organisms  of 
ruder  type.  You  may  assert  that  at  these  stages  mental 
life  is  merely  a  succession  of  feelings  which  never  refer 
themselves  to  any  self  who  feels  them.  But  the  limita- 
tion to  which  exception  is  taken  has  nothing  to  do  with 
such  a  stage  of  mind;  it  expressly  applies  to  a  self- 
conscious  activity,  and  it  asserts  that  even  when  I  do 
know  myself  I  know  myself  merely  as  a  succession  of 
feelings.  So  far  am  I  from  knowing  myself  always  and 
only  as  a  succession  of  feelings  that  I  never  know  nor 
can  conceive  myself  as  such.  The  assertion  is,  in  fact, 
a  contradiction  in  terms ;  it  is  tantamount  to  the  asser- 
tion that  I  know  myself  as  that  which  is  not  I. 

There  is  indeed  a  sense  in  which  the  assertion  might 
bo  interpreted  as  an  awkward  expression  of  a  truth.  A 
feeling  considered  as  a  concrete  fact  is  but  a  mind  or 
self  in  a  certain  state.  It  is  true  that  by  the  ordinary 
process  of  abstraction  we  may  give  special  attention  to 
the  state  of  feeling  without  thinking  specially  of  the  self 
who  feels,  just  as  we  may  withdraw  our  attention  from 
the  centre  of  a  circle  and  confine  it  specially  to  the  cir- 
cumference. But  as  the  latter  abstraction  is  never  sup- 
posed to  imply  that  a  circle  can  be  known  only  by  its 
circumference  and  without  any  centre,  surely  the  ab- 
straction of  feeling  from  the  mind  that  feels  cannot  be 
understood  to  mean  that  the  mind  may  be  known  only  by 
its  feelings  without  reference  to  itself.  Whenever  we 
descend  from  the  dead  abstractions  of  science  to  the 


GEXERAL    NATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    345 

living  facts  of  our  mental  existence,  it  becomes  obvious 
that  feelings,  thoughts,  volitions  are  merely  mind  in  its 
different  activities  and  states.  Accordingly,  when  it  is 
asserted  that  we  know  the  mind  merely  as  a  succession 
of  feelings,  the  statement  might  be  interpreted  as  imply- 
ing nothing  more  than  that,  when  I  know  myself,  I  must 
know  myself,  not  as  an  unreal  abstraction,  but  as  a  living 
reality,  —  not  as  a  mere  indeterminate  something,  but 
as  a  being  who  knows  and  feels  and  wills. 

This,  however,  is  not  what  is  meant  by  the  limitation 
which  the  theory  imposes  on  our  knowledge  of  self.  It 
assumes  that  we  may  know  certain  phenomena  called 
feelings  or  mental  states,  but  that  w^e  cannot  know  a 
being  who  feels,  a  mind  that  exists  in  these  states.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  whole  description  is  based  on  the  ap- 
plication to  self-conscious  intelligence  of  a  wholly  inap- 
plicable category,  —  the  category  of  substance  and 
quality.  The  self-conscious  intelligence  constructs,  by 
processes  which  we  have  analysed,  a  world  of  things  or 
substances  distinguished  by  determining  qualities.  But 
the  form  in  which  the  world  is  thus  construed  by 
intelligence  cannot  be  reflected  on  the  construing 
intelligence,  as  if  itself  were  merely  one  of  its  0"\\ti 
constructions. 

Even  the  category  here  applied  is  misunderstood.  It 
is  used  as  if  it  implied  that  substance  is  an  unknown 
and  unknowable  something,  hid  behind  the  impenetrable 
veil  of  its  qualities.  Without  discussing  here  how  far 
this  is  a  proper  account  of  the  category,  it  must  be 
evident  that  under  such  an  interpretation  it  has  no  ap- 
plicability to  self -consciousness.  We  may  indeed,  if  wo 
choose,  speak  of  the  self  as  a  secret  that  is  inexplicable. 


34G  PSYCHOLOGY 

But  it  is  a  very  open  secret.  There  is  nothing  that  we 
can  apprehend  more  clearly  than  the  meaning  of  "  I  " 
and  "  me,"  when  they  are  used  simply  to  express  self- 
hood. All  that  can  be  understood  by  speaking  of  the 
self  as  inexplicable  is,  that  in  self-consciousness  we  come 
upon  a  fact  beyond  which  science,  knowledge,  cannot 
go ;    for  it  is  the  fact  of  knowledge  itself. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  attempt  to  restrict  self- 
knowledge  to  a  series  of  changing  feelings  is  abandoned 
as  soon  as  it  is  made.  For  after  declaring  that  we  cannot 
hnow  or  conceive  or  imagine  the  mind  except  as  repre- 
sented by  a  succession  of  feelings,  Mr.  Mill  adds,  in  the 
immediately  following  sentence,  that  our  notion  of  mind 
is  the  notion  of  a  permanent  something.  It  is  this 
notion  whose  origin  the  theory  seeks  to  explain. 

II.  The  explanation,  however,  will  be  found  to  involve 
throughout  a  begging  of  the  question  at  issue. 

1.  The  postulates  assumed  and  their  application  will 
m.ake  this  evident. 

(a)  The  first  of  these  postulates  is  association.  ITow 
our  analyses  have  shown  that  the  effects  of  association  are 
often  marvellous ;  but,  after  all,  it  can  merely  associate. 
It  can  link  together  this,  that,  and  the  other  feeling.  It 
can  after  a  while  make  one  suggest  another  rapidly  and 
uniformly,  even  instantaneously  and  irresistibly.  But  no 
mere  association  can  create  what  is  not  contained  in  any 
of  the  associated  states.  These  remain  this,  that,  and 
the  other  feeling  to  the  end.  Certainly  no  multiplicity 
of  feelings  can,  simply  by  the  fact  of  their  being  asso- 
ciated in  a  continuous  succession,  produce  the  unity  of 
self-consciousness. 

(h)   The  other  postulate,  that  the  mind  is  capable  of 


GEiSTERAL   NATURE   OF   KNOWLEDGE    347 

expectation,  is  still  more  obviously  out  of  the  question ; 
for  expectation  is  inconceivable  without  self-conscious- 
ness. The  language  employed  by  Mr.  Mill  in  the  state- 
ment of  this  postulate  conceals  the  inconceivability.  The 
assertion  that  ^'  the  mind  is  capable  of  expectation  "  is 
intelligible  only  on  the  supposition  that  the  expecting 
mind  is  already  self-conscious,  is  able  to  imagine  itself 
feeling  in  the  future.  But  it  should  not  be  forgotten 
that,  on  this  theory,  the  expecting  mind,  not  being  yet 
developed  into  self-consciousness,  is  at  any  moment 
merely  a  feeling  or  a  cluster  of  coexistent  feelings. 
Consequently  the  postulate,  expressed  with  strict  regard 
to  the  conditions  of  the  theory,  should  have  been  to  the 
effect  that  a  feeling  or  a  cluster  of  feelings  is  capable  of 
expecting  other  feelings  in  the  future.  It  may  fairly  be 
presumed  that  in  this  form  the  postulate  would  have 
placed  itself  beyond  the  necessity  of  criticism. 

2.  The  description  of  the  mind  as  a  permanent  possi- 
bility of  feeling  is  another  point  demanding  consider- 
ation in  this  theory.  The  term  possibility  is  indeed 
somewhat  vague ;  but  in  any  sense  it  can  be  taken  only 
as  an  intensified  abstraction  of  a  term  already  sufficiently 
abstract,  namely,  power.  Now,  on  any  empirical  theory, 
power,  or  (what  is  the  same  idea)  cause,  reduces  itself, 
as  we  shall  see/  to  an  uniform  antecedence.  But 
evidently  this  idea  has  no  application  in  the  present 
case.  The  only  cause,  power,  or  possibility  from  which 
a  mental  state  proceeds  is,  for  the  empiricist,  the  state 
or  cluster  of  states  forming  its  antecedent.  Empiricism 
cannot  even  entertain  the  conception  that,  in  addition 
to  these  determining  antecedents,  the  self  enters  into  the 

*  See  §  5  of  this  chapter. 


348  PSYCHOLOGY 

temporal  current  of  feelings  as  a  constant  factor  in  their 
causation.     And  vet,  on  any  other  interpretation,  it  is 
•  difficult  to  comprehend  what  is  meant  by  speaking  of  the 
mind  as  a  permanent  possibility  of  feeling. 

The  fact  is,  as  already  urged,  that  the  categories  by 
which  the  self-conscious  intelligence  gives  order  to  the 
succession  of  phenomena  are  not  the  qualifications  by 
which  that  intelligence  is  itself  described.  It  is  true 
that  I,  as  an  individual  person,  distinguish  myself  from 
other  individuals  by  the  particular  current  of  feelings 
and  thoughts  which  make  up  my  mental  life.  But  in  the 
self -consciousness  w^hich  characterises  that  life  there  is 
a  2:)rinciple  implied  w^hich  cannot  be  conceived  as  itself 
a  mere  product  in  time  of  any  temporal  association  of 
nhenomena.     It  is  but  due  to  Mr.  Mill  to  observe  that 

X 

he  himself  admits  the  intrinsic  inconceivability  of  his 
theory.  "  The  thread  of  consciousness,"  he  says  in 
closing  the  discussion,  "  which  composes  the  mind's 
phenomenal  life,  consists  not  only  of  present  sensations, 
but  likewise,  in  part,  of  memories  and  expectations. 
ISTow  what  are  these  ?  In  themselves  they  are  present 
feelings,  states  of  present  consciousness,  and  in  that 
respect  not  distinguished  from  sensations.  They  all, 
moreover,  resemble  some  given  sensations  or  feelings,  of 
which  we  have  previously  had  experience.  But  they  are 
attended  with  the  peculiarity  that  each  of  them  involves 
a  belief  in  more  than  its  o^vn  present  existence.  A  sen- 
sation involves  only  this:  but  a  remembrance  of  sensa- 
tion, even  if  not  referred  to  any  particular  date,  involves 
the  suggestion  and  belief  that  a  sensation,  of  which  it  is 
a  copy  or  representation,  actually  existed  in  the  past: 
and  an  expectation  involves  the  belief,  more  or  less 


GENERAL   NATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    349 

positive,  that  a  sensation  or  other  feeling  to  which  it 
directly  refers  will  exist  in  the  future.  Nor  can  the 
phenomena  involved  in  these  two  states  of  consciousness 
be  adetjuately  expressed  without  saying  that  the  belief 
they  include  is,  that  I  myself  formerly  had,  or  that  I 
myself,  and  no  other,  shall  hereafter  have,  the  sensations 
remembered  or  expected.  The  fact  believed  is,  that  the 
sensations  did  actually  form,  or  will  hereafter  form,  part 
of  the  self -same  scries  of  states,  or  thread  of  conscious- 
ness, of  which  the  remembrance  or  expectation  of  those 
sensations  is  the  part  now  present.  If  therefore  we 
speak  of  the  Mind  as  a  series  of  feelings,  we  are  obliged 
to  complete  the  statement  by  calling  it  a  series  of  feelings 
which  is  aware  of  itself  as  past  and  future ;  and  we  are 
reduced  to  the  alternative  of  believing  that  the  Mind, 
or  Ego,  is  something  different  from  any  series  of  feel- 
ings, or  possibilities  of  them,  or  of  accepting  the  para- 
dox that  something  which  ex  hypothesi  is  but  a  series 
of  feelings  can  be  aware  of  itself  as  a  series.  .  .  .  The 
true  incomprehensibility  perhaps  is,  that  something 
which  has  ceased,  or  is  not  yet  in  existence,  can  still  be, 
in  a  manner,  present:  that  a  series  of  feelings,  the 
infinitely  greater  part  of  which  is  past  or  future,  can  be 
gathered  up,  as  it  were,  into  a  single  present  conception, 
accompanied  by  a  belief  of  reality.  I  think  by  far  the 
Vv'isest  thing  we  can  do  is  to  accept  the  inexplicable 
fact  without  any  theory  of  how  it  takes  place.''  ^ 

^  These  words  are  from  the  chapter  referred  to  above  In  Mill's 
Examination  of  Hamilton's  Philosophtj.  A  passajie  of  similar  drift 
occurs  in  a  long  note  which  Mill  attaches  to  the  edition  of  his  father's 
AnalijsxH  of  the  Phenomena  of  tlic  Human  Mind,  which  he  brought  out 
in  collaboration  with  Bain  and  Findlater  and  Grote.  See  Vol.  II.,  pr>. 
172-17.">.  James's  critique  of  t'lesc  passages  (Principles  of  Psycholof/]/, 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  355-360)  is  well  worth  reading. 


350  PSYCHOLOGY 

No  one  can  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  fairness  of 
spirit  which  characterises  this  exposition  by  Mr.  Mill 
of  the  inconceivability  attaching  to  his  theory.  The 
exposition  implicitly  contains  most  of  the  criticism 
which  this  section  has  passed  upon  the  theory;  for  it 
admits  that  self-consciousness  cannot  be  conceived  as 
constructed  by  an  association  of  successive  sensations. 
The  full  purport  of  this  admission  the  sequel  of  this 
chapter  will  show.  It  will  then  appear  that  with 
the  admission  empiricism  in  psychology  is  virtually 
abandoned. 

The  empirical  theory  of  self-consciousness  assumes, 
in  the  postulate  of  expectation,  even  if  in  no  other 
respect,  that  the  consciousness  of  time  precedes  the  con- 
sciousness of  self.  We  shall  now  consider  the  tenabilitv 
of  this  assumption. 

§  2.  —  Time, 

The  consciousness  of  time  is  explained,  on  the  em- 
pirical theory,  as  generated  by  the  succession  of  con- 
scious states.  Probably  the  fullest  exposition  of  the 
theory  in  recent  times  is  that  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer.-^ 
His  exposition  may  be  summed  up  thus :  — 

I.  In  the  consciousness  of  successive  states  one  part 
of  the  fact  of  which  we  are  conscious  is  their  succession. 
The  state  A  appears  in  consciousness,  not  as  the  isolated 
state  A,  but  as  prior  to  its  consequent  B.  Again,  B 
appears  as  posterior  to  A,  and  prior  to  some  third  state, 
C ;  and  so  on  with  the  other  factors  of  any  conscious 
series. 

^  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  VI.,  Chap.  XV.  See  also  Sully'a 
Outlinea  of  P8]/chology,  pp.  255-265. 


GENEKAL   :N^ATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    351 

II.  Now  suppose,  as  often  happens  in  actual  con- 
sciousness, two  states  separated,  first  by  a  brief  interval, 
say  a  second ;  afterwards  by  a  longer  interval,  say  a 
minute;  and  again  by  an  interval  longer  still,  such  as 
an  hour,  a  day,  or  a  year.  Here  we  have  the  same 
conscious  states  separated  by  different  intervals.  We 
are  thus  led  to  distinguish  the  intervals  from  the  states 
they  separate,  —  to  form  the  abstract  idea  of  succession, 
that  is,  of  time.  This  abstraction  may  also  be  created, 
or,  if  already  created,  may  be  confirmed,  by  the  fact 
that  different  sets  of  conscious  states  may  be  separated 
by  the  same  interval  of  time.  Thus  an  odour  and  then 
a  taste,  a  colour  and  then  a  sound,  a  sorrow  and  then 
a  fit  of  anger,  may  follow  one  another,  each  at  the  inter- 
val of  a  second  or  an  hour  or  a  day  or  any  other  defi- 
nite period. 

The  theory  thus  sketched  explains,  if  such  an  ex- 
planation were  necessary,  how,  given  the  consciousness 
of  our  feelings  being  related  in  time,  we  may  separate 
the  idea  of  time  from  the  feelings ;  that  is,  it  explains 
how,  from  the  consciousness  of  feelings  being  successive, 
we  may  form  the  abstract  idea  of  succession.  But  it 
does  not  begin  to  explain  how  we  first  become  conscious 
of  the  concrete  fact  that  our  feelings  are  not  merely 
feelings,  but  are  related  as  consecutive  or  as  contem- 
poraneous. For  the  proposition  with  which  the  theory 
starts  is  either  imtrue  or  an  assumption  of  the  point  at 
issue.  The  proposition  is  untrue  if  it  be  taken  to  mean 
that  the  fact  of  succession  is  a  part  of  the  successive 
feelings  of  which  we  are  conscious.  I  am  conscious  of 
one  feeling,  then  of  another;  but  in  the  one  or  the  other 
there  is  nothing  to  tell  that  it  comes  before  or  after.    Do 


352  PSYCHOLOGY 

I  taste  time,  or  smell  it,  or  touch  it  with  mj  finger-tips, 
or  see  it  in  colours,  or  feel  it  when  I  am  roused  into 
anger  or  melted  into  tenderness  ? 

But  it  may  perhaps  be  urged  that,  though  no  feeling  is 
itself  a  consciousness  of  time,  yet  the  association  and 
mutual  suggestion  of  feelings  form  this  consciousness. 
Need  it  be  repeated  that  association  can  merely  associate  ? 
It  can  give  us  a  taste  and  an  odour,  a  colour  and  a 
sound,  etc. ;  and  if  prolonged,  it  may  produce  an 
irresistible  and  instantaneous  suggestion.  But  the  fact 
of  one  sensation  being  suggested  by  another,  however 
irresistibly  and  instantaneously,  is  not  the  consciousness 
of  their  being  related  as  prior  and  posterior ;  it  is  simply 
the  consciousness  of  one  sensation,  then  of  another; 
it  is  not  the  consciousness  of  any  relation  whatever 
between  them. 

But  in  a  certain  sense  it  is  true  that  the  fact  of  their 
succession  is  a  part  of  the  whole  fact  of  which  we  are 
conscious  in  a  series  of  feelings.  Only  the  proposition 
is  not  true  in  the  sense  which  the  theory  requires.  The 
consciousness  of  their  succession  is  a  wholly  different 
act  from  the  consciousness  involved  in  the  successive 
feelings  themselves.  It  implies  that  consciousness  is 
not  restricted  to  feelings,  but  goes  beyond  them,  and 
compares  them  with  one  another.  Now  how  is  such  a 
consciousness  possible?  If  our  mental  life  be  merely  a 
succession  of  feelings,  if  the  consciousness  of  each 
moment  absolutely  vanishes  as  that  moment  passes 
away,  there  can  'be  no  principle  in  consciousness  to 
connect  the  different  moments  by  a  comparison  which 
goes  beyond  each  and  cognises  its  relation  of  priority  or 
posteriority  to  others.     For  this  there  must  be  some 


GENERAL   NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    353 

2)eniianent  factor  of  consciousness, — a  factor  that  is  out 
of  the  succession  which  it  observes.  That  factor  is  self- 
consciousness,  and  without  self-consciousness  the  con- 
sciousness of  time  is  thus  seen  to  be  impossible. 

Thus  also  memory  is  explained.  For  memory  is  some- 
thing more  than  mere  suggestion,  with  which  it  seems 
to  be  at  times  confounded  in  a  purely  empirical  psychol- 
ogy. By  memory  is  meant,  not  merely  the  representa- 
tion of  a  former  presentation,  called  up  by  the  Laws  of 
Association.  It  is  a  representation  accompanied  by  the 
consciousness  that  it  is  a  representation  of  what  was 
formerly  present.  Memory,  therefore,  implies  a  higher 
function  of  the  mind  than  a  bare  association.  It  is  the 
higher  function  of  comparison  applied  to  the  suggestions 
of  the  past.  As  perception  is  an  interpretation  by 
thought  of  the  presentations  arising  in  consciousness 
from  the  excitement  of  the  sensibility  at  the  time,  so 
memory  may  be  described  as  an  interpretation  of  the 
representations  suggested  to  consciousness  by  associa- 
tions formed  before.  It  is  a  judgment  with  regard  to 
the  time  —  the  temporal  circumstances  —  in  w^hich  these 
representations  were  previously  presented  in  conscious- 
ness. We  can  therefore  understand  why  it  is  that  while 
suggestion  is  active  in  the  earliest  manifestations  of 
mental  life  that  w^e  can  trace,  memory  is  a  later  develop- 
ment. Young  children  evidently  often  confound  mere 
fictions  of  the  fancy  with  valid  reminiscences;  and  the 
poor  creatures  are  sometimes  ignorantly  punished  for 
lying  when  their  sole  fault  is  a  mistaken  judgment  with 
regard  to  a  suggestion.  Even  in  mature  life  most  men 
must  have  had  experience  of  the  inconveniences  arising 
from  a  slip  of  memory,  which  is  no  more  unintelligible 

23 


354  PSYCHOLOGY 

than  an  illusion  of  sense;  and  the  scrupulous  thinker 
will  sometimes  find  himself  in  doubt  as  to  whether  his 
memory  deceives  him  or  not.  When  memory  is  thus 
fully  described,  it  is  seen  to  be  impossible  without  self- 
consciousness.  For  if  there  were  no  permanent  self, 
continuing  identical  amidst  all  the  changes  of  conscious- 
ness, —  if  there  were  but  a  perpetually  altering  con- 
sciousness, in  which  each  moment  absolutely  perishes  as 
the  next  supervenes,  —  then  there  might  perhaps  be 
suggestion  of  one  feeling  by  another,  but  there  could  be 
no  memory.  For  memory  is  the  consciousness  that  I, 
remembering  in  the  present,  am  identical  with  my  self  of 
the  past  remembered.  The  inconceivability  of  memory 
on  any  empirical  theory  of  mind  is  strikingly  expressed 
in  the  quotation  from  Mr.  Mill  near  the  close  of  last  sec- 
tion, and  even  more  explicitly  in  the  parallel  passage 
referred  to  in  the  note  at  that  place. 

§  3.  —  Space. 

The  empirical  theory  on  the  origin  of  this  notion  starts 
from  the  position  that  all  ideas  of  space  may  be 
interpreted  in  terms  of  muscular  sensibility  and  time. 
It  may  therefore  be  observed,  in  passing,  that,  on  this 
theory,  the  idea  of  space  presupposes  that  of  time,  so 
that  it  is  possible  to  admit  the  empirical  origin  of  the 
former,  while  denying  that  of  the  latter.  To  explain  the 
fundamental  position  of  the  theory,  it  is  to  be  observed 
that  every  notion  of  space  may  be  described  as  referring 
to  a  possible  series  of  muscular  sensations  in  a  given 
time.  Is  the  particular  notion  that  of  magnitude  ?  then 
suppose,  for  example,  I  am  thinking  that  the  desk  before 


GENEKAL    Is^ATUKE    OF    KXOWLEDGE    355 

me  is  larger  than  the  book  lying  on  it,  my  thought 
implies  that  a  longer  or  quicker  series  of  muscular 
sensations  would  be  experienced  in  passing  the  hand 
over  the  surface  of  the  one  than  in  passing  it  over  that 
of  the  other.  Again,  is  the  particular  notion  that  of 
distance  ?  then  suppose,  by  way  of  illustration,  I  perceive 
this  house  to  bo  nearer  than  yonder  mountain,  my 
perception  means  that  a  longer  or  quicker  series  of 
muscular  sensations  would  be  felt  in  reaching  the  one 
than  in  reaching  the  other. 

Starting  from  this  interpretation  of  our  notions  of 
space,  the  empiricist  proceeds  to  the  fact  that  space 
implies  more  than  a  succession  of  sensations ;  it  implies 
a  coexistence  of  positions.  I  conceive  that  the  points 
successively  occupied  by  my  hand  or  my  body  in 
traversing  a  space  do  not  vanish  out  of  existence,  but 
continue  to  exist  when  my  hand  or  my  body  has  left 
them.  How  is  this  additional  notion  to  be  explained  ? 
Partly  by  the  fact  that  we  can  feel  simultaneous 
sensations  of  touch  corresponding  to  the  points  succes- 
sively touched  during  the  series  of  muscular  sensations 
experienced  in  traversing  a  tangible  surface.  Still  more 
fully,  however,  is  this  notion  of  simultaneity  developed 
by  simultaneous  sensations  of  sight,  as  these  can  compass 
a  far  vaster  extent  of  surface.  In  fact,  Mr.  Mill  at  least 
holds  that  without  the  aid  of  sight  —  in  other  words,  to 
the  congenitally  blind  —  ideas  of  space  can  never  imply 
more  than  a  mere  succession  of  muscular  feelings.  But 
perhaps  the  idea  of  points  successively  touched  being 
coexistent  would  be  most  unequivocally  suggested  to  the 
mind  by  our  ability  to  repeat  the  series  of  touches  in 
any  order. 


356  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  different  i^oints,  simultaneously  discerned  by 
touch  and  sight,  or  thought  as  coexistent  by  being 
touched  iu  different  orders,  become  thus  the  symbols  of 
different  stages  in  a  series  of  muscular  sensations  by 
being  associated  with  them.  Finally,  by  abstraction 
these  different  points  or  positions  may  be  dissociated  in 
thought  from  the  muscular  sensations  with  which  they 
were  originally  associated  and  wdiich  they  originally  rep- 
resented. We  thus  reach  the  abstract  idea  of  coexistent 
positions,  —  that  is,  of  space ;  for  space,  as  indicated 
especially  by  the  German  term  Raum,  is  simply  the 
room  or  sphere  in  which  muscular  exertion  is  possible.^ 

The  opponents  of  the  older  empiricism  have  usually 
contended  that  its  genesis  of  this  notion  assumes  im- 
plicitly the  existence  of  the  notion  before  the  process  of 
origination  begins.  The  more  recent  empiricists,  how- 
ever, ascribe  the  imperfection  of  the  old  empirical  theory 
to  the  fact  that  it  failed  to  recognise  the  function  of  the 
muscular  sense  in  the  development  of  this  notion.  But 
it  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  introduction  of  this  new 
factor  into  the  development  evades  the  old  charge.  For 
in  educing  the  notion  of  space  from  muscular  sensations, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  are  anything  but  sen- 
sations. They  are,  of  course,  distinguishable  in  con- 
sciousness from  other  sensations  —  from  tastes,  sounds, 
colours  —  as  these  are  from  one  another.  Different 
muscular  sensations  also  are  distinguishable  from  one 
another  in  intensity,  in  duration,  and  in  other  respects; 
but  still  they  are  only  sensations. 

^  Expositions  of  this  theory  will  be  found,  among  other  places,  In 
Mill's  Examination  of  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  Chap.  XIII. ;  Bain's 
Senses  and  Intellect^  Part  II.,  Chap.  I.,  §§  33-45  ;  Spencer's  Principles 
of  Psychology,  Part  VI.,  Chap.  XIV.,  with  which  compare  Chap.  XXII. 


GEI^ERAL    NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    357 

Now  the  problem  is  to  explain  how  such  sensations 
become  objective  relations  —  of  distance,  magnitude, 
situation  —  between  things.  In  solving  this  problem  we 
must  not  describe  these  sensations  as  if  thej  were  already 
such  objective  relations.  But  descriptions  of  this  pur- 
port seem  hardly  avoidable.  Some  muscular  sensations, 
for  example,  are  spoken  of,  and  with  propriety,  as  "  sen- 
sations of  movement."  Yet  this  language  is  apt  to  be 
used  as  implying  that  a  muscular  sensation  is  a  con- 
sciousness of  movement,  and  therefore  of  the  space 
through  which  the  moving  body  passes;  but  this  con- 
sciousness is  not  really  involved  in  muscular  sensations, 
or  in  any  other  sensations  as  such.  Occasionally  in  the 
discussion  of  this  subject  phrases  are  employed  with  less 
justification,  as  when  ^^  consciousness  of  position,'*  or 
"  position  "  simply,  is  made  to  stand  as  an  equivalent  for 
any  sensation  of  touch. 

In  such  descriptions  of  sensations  the  whole  question 
is  apt  to  be  begged.  A  sensation  cannot  take  us  beyond 
itself ;  and  that  is  necessary  in  order  to  conceive  a  rela- 
tion of  space  or  of  any  other  sort.  Here,  again,  there- 
fore, empiricism  falls  into  its  general  confusion  between 
sensations,  whether  isolated  or  associated,  and  the  act  of 
self-conscious  thought  by  which  sensations  are  compared. 
But,  in  addition  to  this  general  confusion,  the  empirical 
theory  on  the  notion  of  space  falls  into  the  special  mis- 
take of  confounding  the  sensations  associated  with  a 
notion  and  the  notion  itself,  —  the  sensations  of  mus- 
cular exercise  and  the  notion  of  space.  It  is  quite  true 
that  we  can  interpret  space  in  terms  of  muscular  sen- 
sation and  time,  for  muscular  sensations  are  associated 
with  our  notion  of  space;    but  they  do  not  generate  or 


358  PSYCHOLOGY 

constitute  that  notion.  In  the  first  chapter  of  this  Part 
it  was  shown  that  solidity,  distance,  and  other  relations 
of  space  become  associated  with  visual  sensations,  and 
therefore  irresistibly  suggested  by  them.  In  like  man- 
ner they  are  associable  w4th,  and  suggestible  by,  mus- 
cular sensations.  But  before  we  have  obtained  any 
notions  of  space  at  all,  it  would  of  course  be  meaningless 
to  speak  of  them  as  being  associated  with  muscular  or 
visual  or  any  other  sensations. 

To  say  that  the  notion  of  space  is  merely  the  notion 
of  a  possible  series  of  muscular  sensations  is  to  beg  the 
whole  question.  The  feeling  excited  by  the  movement 
of  a  muscle  is  not  the  consciousness  of  a  muscle  moving. 
How  do  I  know  that  muscular  feeling  implies  masses  of 
muscle  which  fill  space,  and  a  space  in  w^hich  these 
masses  may  move  ?  Xot  from  sensations,  either  isolated 
or  associated.  For  space  is  not  feeling;  it  is  not  a  sub- 
jective state,  or  an  association  of  subjective  states.  It  is 
a  relation  of  objects ;  and  as  a  relation,  it  can  be  known 
only  by  comparison. 

Once  obtained,  the  notion  of  space  may  become 
associated,  and  that  inseparably,  with  sensations.  With 
what  sensations  ?  It  is  hard  to  answer  definitely,  if  we 
mean  the  sensations  mth  which  alone  the  notion  asso- 
ciates. It  seems,  in  fact,  as  if  any  sensation  had  the 
power  of  indicating  in  some  way  its  locality  in  the 
organism.  This  fact  is  recognised  in  two  recent  theories 
which  have  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention  among 
psychologists. 

1.  The  first  is  a  theory  which  appears  to  have  received 
definite  shape  and  name  from  Lotze.-^     It  maintains  that, 

^  Tbe  Ensrlish  reader  will  find  a  full  exposition  of  the  theory  In 
Ladd's  translation  of  Lotze's  Outlines  of  Psycliology,  pp.  47-65. 


GENERAL   NATURE   OF   KNOWLEDGE    359 

besides  the  quality  which  specifically  differentiates  sen- 
sations from  one  another,  they  have  all  a  peculiar  prop- 
erty arising  from  some  distinctive  feature  in  the  part  of 
the  organism,  and  even  in  the  part  of  any  organ,  in  which 
they  are  excited.  This  peculiar  property,  being  indica- 
tive of  the  locality  with  which  a  sensation  is  connected, 
has  been  called  its  local  sign.  With  regard  to  the  exist- 
ence of  such  signs,  indicating  the  local  origin  of  a  sen- 
sation, there  need  be  no  dispute ;  and  therefore  the  local 
sign  theory,  taken  by  itself,  is  rather  a  statement  of  the 
fact  to  be  explained  than  a  scientific  explanation  of  the 
fact.^  Accordingly  the  supporters  of  the  theory  attempt 
to  specify  the  peculiar  properties  of  different  sensations 
which  give  them  their  distinctive  local  significations. 
But  in  these  attempts  there  is  still  so  much  divergence 
that  it  is  hopeless  at  present  to  look  for  any  results  that 
can  be  regarded  as  generally  accepted  or  even  as  reason- 
ably certain. 

2.  We  are  therefore  led  to  look  at  another  theory, 
which  has  been  propounded  indeed  independently  of 
the  former,  but  is  quite  in  harmony  with  it,  and  may 
even  be  taken  as  its  supplement.  This  theory  founds 
upon  a  characteristic  which  distinguishes  by  its  varieties 
all  our  sensations.  This  is  the  characteristic  which  has 
been  described,  in  an  earlier  part  of  this  work,^  as  a 
general  feature  of  all  sensation.  It  is  the  characteristic 
knowTi  as  extensity,  volume,  or  niassivcnoss.  It  may  be 
distinctly  recognised  in  the  difference  between  the  sensa- 
tion of  a  hot  bath  in  which  the  whole  person  is  inunersed 
and  that  of  dipping  a  single  finger  into  hot  water. 

*  This  Is  pointed  out  by  Lotze  himself  (Op.  cit.,  p.  54). 
'  See  above,  p.  25. 


360  PSYCHOLOGY 

The  theory  which  traces  the  idea  of  space  to  this  uni- 
versal feature  of  sensation  seems  to  have  been  tirst 
suggested  by  Dr.  Ward  in  his  well-known  article  on 
Psychology  in  the  Encyclopedia  Brita7inica}  But 
the  theory  has  found  its  most  elaborate  exponent  and* 
most  vigorous  champion  in  Professor  James.  As  stated 
by  him,  its  gist  is,  ^'  that  this  element,  discernible  in 
each  and  every  sensation,  though  more  developed  in  some 
than  in  others,  is  the  original  sensation  of  space,  out  of 
which  all  the  exact  knowledge  about  space  that  we  after- 
wards come  to  have  is  woven  by  processes  of  discrimina- 
tion, association,  and  selection."  ^  Certainly  it  seems  as 
if  this  factor  of  sensation  had  a  stronger  claim  than  any 
other  to  be  regarded  as  the  true  local  sign.  But  as  it 
varies  vastly  in  different  sensations,  some  are  evidently 
much  better  adapted  than  others  for  indicating  local 
relations,  and  therefore  for  developing  ideas  of  space. 
It  may  be  difficult  as  yet  to  determine  with  certainty 
which  of  the  senses  is  most  valuable  in  this  respect ;  but 
it  seems  as  if  the  organs  of  touch  and  sight,  by  the  sub- 
division of  their  terminal  fibres,  were  peculiarly  adapted 
for  suggesting  that  reciprocal  outness  which  constitutes 
spatial  relation. 

Once  a  sensation  is  associated  with  locality,  the 
inseparableness  of  the  association  and  the  irresistibility 
of  the  consequent  suggestion  are  remarkable.  The  loss 
of  an  arm  or  a  leg  might  be  expected  to  break  the 
association,  and  to  arrest  the  suggestion  of  these  parts  of 

*  Vol.  XX.,  p.  46  (9th  ed.).  Dr.  Ward,  however,  explicitly  limits 
his  view.  He  maintains  merely  that,  though  extensity  "  is  an  essential 
element  in  our  perception  of  space,  it  is  certainly  not  the  whole  of  it. 
Extensity  and  extension,  then,  are  not  to  be  confounded." 

*  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  135. 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    361 

the  organism;  but  when  any  irritation  is  set  up  in  the 
trunk  of  a  nerve  which  formerly  extended  to  a  lost  limb, 
the  irritation  continues  to  be  felt  as  if  at  the  former 
termination  of  the  nerve.  What  is  still  more  astonish- 
ing, the  same  suggestion  is  observed  even  in  cases  of 
congenital  imperfection.  For  instance,  a  girl  of  nineteen 
years,  in  whom  all  the  metacarpal  bones  of  the  left  hand 
were  very  short,  and  the  bones  of  all  the  phalanges  on 
that  hand  entirely  wanting,  used  to  experience  sensa- 
tions that  seemed  to  be  in  the  palm  and  fingers  of  a 
hand  that  never  existed  as  well  as  in  the  right  hand 
which  she  had.^ 

Some  other  problems  with  regard  to  space  and  time 
will  be  more  appropriately  discussed  at  the  close  of 
next  section. 

§  4.  —  Substance, 

The  cosmos  that  is  unfolded  to  self-conscious  intel- 
ligence is  a  world  of  things^  objects,  substances.  It  is 
this  aspect  of  the  world  of  consciousness  that  now  de- 
mands consideration. 

The  empirical  theory  on  the  notion  of  substance  has 
not  advanced  since  the  time  of  Locke.  A  number  of 
simple  ideas,  Locke  explains,  are  found  to  occur  to- 
gether; in  more  modern  language  we  should  say  that 
a  number  of  sensations  are  uniformly  associated  in  our 
experience.  On  the  ground  of  this  association  we 
become  accustomed  to  think  of  them  as  connected  by 
some  real  bond,  this  habit  being  confirmed  by  the  fact 

^  Some  notice  of  such  cases  will  bo  found  In  M'Cosh's  Defen<;e  of 
Fun^Jamental  Truth,  p.  164.  Dr.  MTosh  quotes  the  Bepertorium  fiir 
Anatomic  und  Phyaiologie  for  1836,  p.  330. 


302  PSYCHOLOGY 

that  such  aggregates  of  simple  ideas  or  sensations  are 
commonly  distinguished  by  a  single  name.'^ 

Here,  again,  the  empiricist  must  be  reminded  that 
association  simply  associates.  One  sensation  may  by 
uniform  association  be  made  to  suggest  others,  even 
instantaneously  and  irresistibly;  but  that  is  not  the 
idea  of  substance.  For  in  any  number  of  sensations, 
however  long  associated  and  however  powerfully  sug- 
gestive of  each  other,  we  have  not  yet  got  an  objective 
world  at  all.  This  is  apt  to  be  concealed  by  the  imper- 
fection and  ambiguity  of  Lockers  language,  in  .which 
"  sensation ''  and  "  idea  of  a  quality  ''  are  confounded. 
But  sensations  are  the  states  of  a  subject,  and  contain 
in  themselves  no  reference  to  an  object.  Tastes,  touches, 
colours  are  merely  tastes,  touches,  colours;  they  are 
not  the  consciousness  of  a  thing  sapid,  tangible,  coloured. 
Whenever  we  describe  them  as  qualities  or  ideas  of 
qualitieSy  we  assume  the  point  at  issue,  —  we  take  for 
granted  the  existence  of  the  notion  of  a  substance  to 
which  they  belong;  for  quality  has  no  meaning  apart 
from  a  thing  qualified. 

It  is  a  striking  proof  of  the  impossibility  of  eliciting 
this  idea  from  sensations  that  Hume,  on  the  empirical 
principles  of  Locke,  denies  not  only  the  objective  va- 
lidity of  the  idea,  but  even  its  very  existence,  on  the 
ground  that  there  is  no  sensation  ^  from  which  it  could 
be  derived.  The  empiricists  of  the  present  day  gen- 
erally accept  Hume's  doctrine,  but  proceed  in  defiance 
of  it  by  starting  from  an  object  outside  of  consciousness 


*  See  Locke's  Essay,  Book  II.,  Chap.  XXIII. 

*  Impression  is  Hume's  name  for  sensation.     See  Hume's  Treatise  of 
Human  Nature^  Book  I.,  Part  I.,  §  6. 


GEl^ERAL   NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    363 

—  a  substance  or  force  —  as  the  generator  of  conscious- 
ness itself. 

If  we  cannot  trace  the  notion  of  substance  to  sensa- 
tions, its  origin  must  be  sought  in  some  other  factor  of 
consciousness.  To  do  this,  let  us  observe  the  import 
of  the  notion.  We  are  accustomed,  as  Locke  puts  it, 
to  suppose  that  the  qualities  represented  by  our  simple 
ideas  are  connected  by  some  bond.  Even  Hume  ac- 
knowledges that  "they  are  commonly  referred  to  an 
unkno\\Ti  something,  in  which  they  are  supposed  to 
inhere ;  or  granting  this  fiction  does  not  take  place,  are 
at  least  supposed  to  be  closely  and  inseparably  connected 
by  the  relations  of  contiguity  and  causation,"  —  that  is 
to  say,  that  the  world  which  unrolls  itself  before  con- 
scious intelligence  is  conceived  not  as  a  series  of  van- 
ishing sensations,  but  as  a  system  of  things  which,  with 
all  their  variableness,  are  endowed  with  a  certain  per- 
manence. How  comes  it  that  the  world  shapes  itself 
thus  to  intelligence?  It  arises  from  the  fact  that 
otherwise  there  would  be  no  intelligible  world  at  all; 
it  is  therefore  the  form  of  the  world  that  is  implied  in 
the  very  nature  of  intelligence.  For  to  be  intelligent 
is  to  be  self-conscious;  and  to  be  conscious  of  self  is 
to  be  conscious  of  notself.  Consequently  the  very  act 
of  intelligence  by  which  we  are  conscious  of  sensations 
projects  these  into  an  objective  sphere,  transmuting  them 
into  qualities  of  objects,  and  thus  forming  out  of  them  a 
world  that  is  not  ourselves. 

Accordingly,  in  their  psychological  aspect  at  least, 
qualities  are  simply  the  form  in  which  self-conscious 
intelligence  construes  sensations.  By  a  similar  con- 
struction is  formed  the  notion  of  substance  as  that  imity 


364  PSYCHOLOGY 

by  which  qualities  are  essentially  connected  and  which 
remains  unaltered  amid  their  changes.  For  the  variable 
elements  —  the  qualities  —  of  things  in  the  world  of 
consciousness  can  be  conceived,  even  as  variable,  only 
by  relation  to  that  which  is  permanent.  The  very  con- 
ditions under  which  alone  an  intelligible  universe  can 
be  conceived  render  necessary  the  notion  of  substances 
as  enduring  while  their  qualities  change. 

The  same  result  is  reached  from  another  point  of 
view.  The  fundamental  idea  involved  in  thing,  sub- 
stance, or  object  is  the  idea  of  existence^  reality,  being. 
Reality,  in  fact,  is  simply  the  Latin  for  thinghood. 
Now  existence,  in  its  simplest  form,  is  merely  presence 
to  consciousness;  and  therefore  any  phenomenon  what- 
ever —  anything  that  forms  an  object  to  conscious  in- 
telligence —  exists  as  such.  The  most  fleeting  whims 
and  fancies,  the  most  incongruous  fictions,  all  exist  in 
so  far  as  they  come  within  the  range  of  conscious  expe- 
rience. It  has  often  been  pointed  out  that  there  is  a 
significance  in  the  common  German  word  for  existence. 
It  means  simply  being  there  (Dasein).  Anything  that 
is  simply  there,  simply  before  my  consciousness  at  any 
moment,  exists  for  me  during  the  moment  of  its  presence. 
But  it  may  have  no  existence  beyond,  or  independent 
of,  my  conscious  life.  If  so,  then  it  has  merely  a 
subjective  existence,  it  is  merely  a  subjective  object. 
As  it  exists  only  for  me,  its  existence  is  only  relative, 
only  in  relation  to  me. 

But  in  its  stricter  sense  existence  or  reality  refers 
to  something  independent  on  the  capricious  conditions 
of  any  individual  consciousness,  something  that  is  for 
other   intelligences   besides   myself.     In   contrast   with 


GENERAL    XATUEE    OF    KISTOWLEDGE    365 

such  objective  existence  anything  that  exists  merely 
within  the  sphere  of  my  subjective  experience  is  char- 
acterised as  a  mere  appearance.  Accordingly  existence 
or  reality,  in  the  very  highest  sense  of  the  term,  is  predi- 
cable  of  that  which  exists  or  is  a  reality  for  all  intelli- 
gence.    Such  existence  is  absolute. 

It  is  evident  that  all  science,  all  genuine  knowledge, 
endeavours  to  penetrate  beyond  appearance,  beyond  the 
fleeting  phenomera  of  individual  consciousness.  And 
why?  Because  otherwise  knowledge  would  be  impos- 
sible. If  consciousness  could  grasp  nothing  but  van- 
ishing sensations,  or  vanishing  groups  of  sensations,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  know  anything;  for  the  moment 
we  became  conscious  of  anything,  it  would  have  van- 
ished, leaving  nothing  to  be  kno^vn.  The  very  possi- 
bility of  knowledge,  therefore,  implies  that  there  is  a 
certain  permanence  in  the  facts  which  make  up  our 
conscious  experience;  and  it  is  this  permanent  factor 
amid  all  changes  that  forms  substancQ  in  the  world  of 
our  knowledge. 

And  here  perhaps  we  find  also  the  source  of  those 
two  supreme  forms  under  which  the  objective  world 
is  conceived,  —  the  world  of  objects  coexisting  in  space, 
and  undergoing  successive  modifications  in  time.  For 
the  world  takes  its  intelligible  form  from  its  being 
posited  by  intelligence  that  is  conscious  of  self,  as 
something  that  is  notself.     Now, 

1.  The  notself  cannot  be  thought  as  an  absolute 
identity.  It  is  the  opposite  of  the  identical  factor  of 
consciousness ;  it  is  a  construction  of  factors  which 
are  necessarily  thought  as  varying,  —  that  is,  as  in 
time. 


366  PSYCHOLOGY 

2.  Neither  can  the  notself  be  thought  as  an  absolute 
unity.  Whatever  relative  unity  may  be  ascribed  to  it, 
it  must  still,  as  opposed  to  the  absolutely  simple  factor 
of  consciousness,  be  thought  as  essentially  manifold. 
That  is  merely  another  way  of  saying  that  it  must  be 
thought  not  as  one  indivisible  whole,  but  as  composed 
of  distinct  parts,  —  of  parts  that  are  mutually  exclusive. 
But  the  relation  of  mutual  externality  between  coex- 
istent things  is  space.  For  this  relation  in  itself  is 
difference  in  its  simplest  form.  It  is  merely  numeri- 
cal difference  with  complete  indifference  qualitatively. 
The  difference  between  A  and  A,  between  B  and  B, 
—  the  difference  between  two  squares  of  equal  sides  or 
two  circles  of  equal  circumference,  —  is  simply  the 
fact  that  one  is  outside  of  the  other.  This  simple 
differentiation  without  any  differentiation  of  quality 
thus  gives  us  those  absolutely  homogeneous  units  which 
form  the  elements  of  all  number,  of  all  quantitative 
knowledge. 

Space  and  time  would  thus  appear  to  be  forms  in 
which  the  world  must  necessarily  be  conceived  in  order 
to  be  intelligible,  —  in  order  to  be  an  object  to  self- 
conscious  intelligence.  This  view  of  these  forms  takes 
away  the  ground  from  the  puzzles  which  have  been 
often  built  upon  them  since  the  time  of  the  Eleatic 
Zeno.  It  has  been  often  maintained,  even  in  recent 
times,  that  human  intelligence  is  the  helpless  victim  of 
a  mysterious  antinomy  or  contradiction  in  applying  the 
notions  of  space  and  time;  and  from  this  alleged  fact 
various  metaphysical  inferences  have  been  drawn  with 
regard  to  the  intrinsic  impotence  and  limitation  of  our 
intelligence.     This  is  not  the  place  to  enter  upon  the 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    KNOWLEDGE    367 

metaphysical  aspects  of  the  problems  involved  in  this 
doctrine,  but  in  so  far  as  the  doctrine  bears  upon  the 
notions  of  space  and  time  as  psychological  phenomena,  a 
few  words  of  explanation  are  required. 

The  doctrine  in  question  asserts  that  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  time  and  space  as,  on  the  one  hand,  uncon- 
ditionally infinite  or  unconditionally  finite,  as,  on  the 
other  hand,  infinitely  divisible  or  absolutely  indivisible. 
However  far  you  may  stretch  the  imagination  into  the 
regions  of  space,  into  the  past  or  the  future  of  time, 
you  cannot  touch  in  thought  an  absolute  limit,  —  a 
limit  beyond  which  there  can  be  conceived  to  be  no 
space  or  time.  Repelled  from  the  conception  of  such 
a  limit,  you  endeavour  to  conceive  space  or  time  as 
absolutely  unlimited;  but  you  find  that  thought  sinks 
exhausted  in  the  effort  to  compass  this  conception. 
Again,  if  time  and  space  are  broken  up  into  parts,  it 
is  found  impossible,  on  the  one  hand,  to  imagine  a  por- 
tion of  either  so  small  that  it  cannot  be  divided  into 
portions  smaller  still,  on  the  other  hand,  to  carry  any 
portion  of  time  or  space  to  an  infinite  division  in 
thought* 

Notwithstanding  the  high  authority  under  which 
these  perplexities  have  been  propounded,  it  does  seem 
that  they  imply  a  misapprehension  regarding  the  nature 
of  the  notions  upon  which  they  play.  It  is  quite  true 
that  we  cannot  think  an  absolute  limit  to  space  or  time, 
while  we  are  equally  unable  to  think  of  them  as  abso- 

»  See  Kant's  Kritik  of  Pure  Reason  (Chapter  on  the  Antinomy  of 
Pure  Reason)  ;  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  Discussions,  pp.  13-15,  601-609;  Lec- 
tures on  Metaphysics,  Vol.  II..  pp.  367-374.  Compare  Mansel's  Limits 
of  Religious  Thought,  Lecture  II.,  and  Spencer's  First  Principles,  Part  I., 
Chap.  IV. 


368  PSYCHOLOGY 

lutely  unlimited.  But  the  reason  of  this  is  to  be  sought 
in  no  mysterious  impotence  which  restricts  in  a  special 
manner  the  finite  intellect  of  man.  The  impotence 
arises  from  the  fundamental  condition  of  all  thinking, 
—  the  law  which  prevents  thought  from  contradicting, 
and  thereby  removing,  its  own  positions.  For  space  and 
time  are,  as  we  have  seen,  forms  of  relation;  and  to 
ask  us  to  conceive  them  under  those  modes,  which  the 
doctrine  in  question  pronounces  inconceivable,  would 
be  to  require  the  conception  of  a  relative  which  is  not 
related  to  anything. 

Take,  by  way  of  illustration,  the  idea  of  a  space 
absolutely  limited.  Space  is  a  relation  of  mutual  out- 
ness; the  very  idea  of  space  implies  that  every  space 
has  something  outside  of  it.  But  a  space  with  an 
absolute  limit  would  be  a  space  to  which  there  is  nothing 
outside,  —  a  space  that  is  not  a  space  at  all.  So  time 
means  a  relation  to  a  before  and  an  after.  An  absolute 
limit  to  the  past,  therefore,  would  be  a  time  with  no 
before;  an  absolute  limit  to  the  future,  a  time  with  no 
after.  But  either  limit  would  be  a  time  that  is  not  a 
time. 

Take,  again,  the  opposite  extreme  of  the  infinite. 
An  infinite  space  or  time,  as  the  writers  on  the  subject 
explain,  is  a  conception  that  could  be  formed  only  by 
the  infinite  addition  in  thought  of  finite  spaces  and 
times ;  in  other  words,  the  conception  implies  an  endless 
process.  But  when  I  am  asked  to  form  the  conception 
now,  I  am  asked  to  think  a  contradiction;  I  am  asked 
to  end  a  process  of  thought  which  by  hypothesis  is 
endless. 

The  same  remark  applies  to  the  infinite  division  of 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF   KNOWLEDGE    369 

space  and  time ;  for,  like  an  infinite  addition,  an  infinite 
division  is  a  process  which  it  would  be  a  contradiction 
to  speak  of  completing.  On  the  other  hand,  space  and 
time  are,  by  their  very  nature  as  relations,  conceived  to 
be  made  up  of  related  parts.  The  conception,  therefore, 
of  a  space  or  time  absolutely  indivisible  would  involve 
an  inherent  contradiction. 


§  5.  —  Cause. 

After  the  preceding  analyses,  especially  that  of  last 
section,  little  remains  to  be  said  on  the  special  problem 
which  the  notion  of  cause  presents.  There  is  evidently 
a  close  afl&nity  between  the  notion  of  cause  and  that  of 
substance :  in  some  metaphysical  analyses  substance  and 
cause  are  regarded  as  ultimately  identicaL  As  far  as 
they  form  distinct  notions,  the  one  refers  to  a  necessary 
or  objective  connection  of  coexisting  phenomena,  the 
other  to  a  similar  connection  of  phenomena  that  are 
consecutive,  in  the  world  of  which  we  are  conscious. 
Accordingly,  as  empiricism  derives  the  notion  of  sub- 
stance from  the  uniform  association  of  coexisting  sen- 
sations, so  it  analyses  the  notion  of  cause  into  an 
uniform  association  of  sensations  that  form  a  sequence. 

This  analysis  is  obviously  chargeable  with  the  general 
vice  of  all  empiricism:  it  gives  us  a  world  merely  of 
associated  sensations,  not  of  connected  objects.  A  for- 
tuitous association  of  sensations,  however  frequently 
repeated,  is  not  a  necessary  connection  of  objects;  a 
temporal  association  in  our  consciousness  is  not  an  ob- 
jective connection  between  the  things  of  which  we  are 
conscious.     There  need  be  no  reluctance  to  admit  to 

24 


370  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  fullest  extent  the  man^ellous  effects  of  association, 
especially  when  uniform  and  frequent.  We  have  seen 
that  the  two  factors  of  an  uniform  sequence  may  after 
a  while  be  able  to  suggest  one  another  irresistibly  and 
instantaneously.  Still,  this  implies  merely  that  first 
the  one  appears  in  consciousness,  and  then  the  other 
immediately  and  inevitably  arises.  But  the  thought 
that  the  two  are  essentially  connected,  so  that  the  one 
cannot  appear  without  the  other, — this  is  a  new  thought, 
wholly  different  from  either  or  both  of  the  terms  in  the 
sequence. 

This  thought,  again,  is  the  thought  of  a  relation  or 
connection,  and  cannot  therefore  be  identified  with  sen- 
sation. It  implies  a  consciousness  which  goes  beyond 
transient  sensations,  and  connects  them  with  each  other 
by  a  comparing  act.  This  act  is  rendered  possible  by 
the  presence  in  consciousness  of  a  permanent  factor 
that  is  not  itself  merely  one  of  the  phenomena  which 
flow  in  unceasing  variation.  It  is  this  factor  by  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  a  plurality  of  coexistent  qualities  are 
connected  into  the  unity  of  a  substance.  The  same 
factor  connects  the  successive  moments  in  the  world  that 
rolls  before  consciousness.  The  changing  modifications 
of  substances  which  constitute  this  succession  are  thus 
thought  as  intrinsically  connected  in  their  temporal  rela- 
tions, —  as  coming  necessarily  before  and  after  one 
another.  But  to  say  that  one  is  necessarily  prior  and 
another  necessarily  posterior  is  to  say  that  the  one  ia 
cause  and  the  other  effect. 


PAKT    11. 
FEELINGS. 

Introduction. 

IN  the  remarks  at  the  beginning  of  this  Book  it  was 
explained  that  the  various  functions  of  mental  life 
are  evolved  from  the  raw  materials  of  sensation  by  the 
twofold  process  of  association  and  comparison;  and  the 
student  may  with  advantage  here  refer  to  the  explana- 
tory remarks  on  this  subject.  The  development  of  the 
first  function  —  that  of  cognition  —  has  been  illustrated 
at  length  in  Part  I.  It  is  the  development  of  the 
second  function  that  we  have  now  to  trace.  This  func- 
tion is  variously  termed  feeling,  emotion,  sentiment. 
The  term  affection,  as  we  shall  afterwards  find,  has  been 
commonly  restricted  to  a  single  class  of  feelings,  while 
passion  is  in  ordinary  usage  applied  to  any  feeling  of 
unusual  intensity.  Of  the  three  terms  properly  de- 
scriptive of  these  phenomena,  emotion  has  the  advantage 
of  possessing  the  cognate  adjectival  form  emotional; 
the  adjective  sentimental  is  not  available  for  the  same 
purpose,  as  it  implies  in  popular  use  a  preponderance 
of  the  emotional  over  the  intellectual  factor  in  our 
mental  constitution. 

In  our  emotional  life  there  are  three  conditions  which 
require  to  be  distinguished.      (1)   There  is  the  chronic, 


372  PSYCHOLOGY 

probably  organic,  condition  which  forms  in  personal 
character  a  predominant  tendency  to  certain  forms  of 
emotional  excitement.  This  tendency  is  commonly 
known  as  temperament  or  disposition.  (2)  There  is 
the  temporary  condition  which  creates  a  predominant 
emotional  tendency  for  a  limited  time.  Common  lan- 
guage speaks  of  this  as  a  man's  mood.  (3)  There  is 
the  ephemeral  explosion  of  mood  or  temperament 
which  forms  the  emotional  condition,  the  feeling,  of 
the  moment. 

The  various  forms  of  feeling  have  their  origin  in  the 
fact  that  sensations  are  sources,  not  only  of  knowledge, 
but  also  of  pleasure  and  pain.  In  the  analysis  upon 
which  we  are  entering,  it  will  appear  that  the  capacity 
of  the  different  sensations  for  developing  emotion,  like 
their  capacity  for  developing  cognition,  is  to  be  meas- 
ured by  their  associability  and  comparability.  The 
most  complex  emotions,  therefore,  are  those  w^hich  draw 
their  materials  mainly  from  the  more  intellectual  senses 
of  hearing  and  sight.  Those  are  also  the  emotions  which 
are  sometimes  described  as  the  most  refined,  inasmuch 
as  in  them  the  consciousness  is  freed  from  the  domin- 
ion of  mere  sense,  and  exalted  into  a  state  in  which 
purely  mental  activity  becomes  predominant  over  bodily 
sensation. 

We  have  seen  that  the  aspect  of  sensations,  in  which 
they  form  the  source  of  our  emotional  life,  is  that  in 
which  they  are  regarded  as  giving  pleasure  and  pain. 
This,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  merely  one  aspect  of 
sensation.  The  differentiating  quality  of  sensation  as 
a  particular  taste  or  odour,  a  particular  colour  or  sound, 
is  quite  distinct  from  its  pleasantness  or  painfulness. 


FEELINGS  3Y3 

In  fact,  the  phenomenon  of  anwsthesia  —  or,  as  with 
more  propriety  it  is  named,  analgesia  —  proves  that 
the  painfulncss  of  a  sensation  may  sometimes  be  sep- 
arated from  its  other  qualities.  But  this  aspect  of 
sensation  now  claims  our  attention.  Further,  it  may 
be  observed  that,  though  emotions  are  not  connected 
with  bodily  organs  in  the  same  manner  as  sensations, 
yet  there  is  an  important  connection,  on  the  ground  of 
which  certain  states  or  movements  of  bodily  organs  have 
come  to  be  accepted  as  expressions  of  emotion.  It  will 
be  advisable,  therefore,  before  entering  on  the  detailed 
analyses  of  this  Part,  to  discuss  the  two  general  subjects 
thus  indicated,  namely,  the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
and  the  expression  of  the  emotions. 

§  1.  —  The  Nature  of  Pleasure  and  Pain, 

In  this  inquiry  it  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the 
question  does  not  concern  the  intrinsic  nature  of  pleasure 
and  pain  as  facts  of  consciousness.  To  be  known  they 
must  be  felt;  and  you  can  explain  what  they  are  in 
themselves  only  in  the  way  in  which  any  simple  sensa- 
tion —  a  taste,  a  colour,  or  a  sound  —  may  be  explained, 
by  referring  to  the  fact  in  consciousness.  The  inquiry, 
therefore,  is  of  the  same  nature  with  other  inquiries 
w^iich  have  been  already  instituted  w^ith  regard  to  our 
sensations;  it  concerns  the  conditions  under  which 
pleasure  and  pain  arise  in  consciousness.  Here,  how- 
ever, we  are  at  once  struck  by  a  difference  between  our 
present  inquiry  and  those  which  have  been  already 
carried  out  in  reference  to  sensations.  It  was  found 
that  the  quality,  and  even  the  intensity,  of  sensations 


374  PSYCHOLOGY 

are  directly  referable  to  conditions  in  their  objective 
causes.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pleasantness  or  painful- 
ness  of  a  sensation  is  not  in  general  obviously  connected 
with  a  specific  condition  in  the  object  on  which  it 
depends.  Accordingly  the  conditions  which  determine 
the  pleasurable  or  painful  character  of  any  conscious 
state  are  to  be  sought,  not  in  the  object  with  which  it 
is  associated,  but  rather  in  the  subject  itself.  On  this 
fact  is  founded  the  ethical  doctrine,  preached  by  Epi- 
curean and  Stoic  alike,  regarding  the  indifference  of 
externals  to  the  real  happiness  of  human  life.  This 
fact  is  also  expressed  in  the  psychological  doctrine 
which  describes  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain  as  purely 
subjective  states.  For  while  in  knowledge  and  volition 
there  is  necessarily  a  reference  to  an  object  known  or 
willed,  in  the  mere  feeling  of  being  pleased  or  pained 
the  subject  is  occupied  solely  with  his  o^vn  conscious 
condition. 

What,  then,  is  it  that  makes  one  state  of  consciousness 
pleasant,  and  another  painful  ?  This  question  seems  to 
have  attracted  scientific  attention  for  the  first  time  under 
the  great  impulse  given  by  Socrates  and  by  his  con- 
temporary adherents  and  opponents,  to  speculation  on 
the  chief  good  of  human  life.  Probably  the  earliest 
theory  on  the  subject  was  that  of  the  Cyrenaics,  one 
of  the  various  schools  into  which  the  many-coloured 
followers  of  Socrates  separated  immediately  after  his 
death.  The  theory,  in  its  germ  at  least,  may  perhaps 
be  traced  to  the  Master;  for  it  apparently  received  the 
sanction  of  his  greatest  disciple  in  the  Platonic  dialogue, 
Philehus.  But  a  theory  taking  a  far  larger  grasp  of 
the  phenomena  was  soon  after  elaborated  by  Aristotle; 


FEELINGS  375 

and  it  is  marvellous  to  what  an  extent  subsequent  spec- 
ulation on  the  subject  has  been  influenced  by  Aristo- 
telian thought.  Sir  William  Ilamilton  has  done  more 
than  any  other  British  psychologist  to  draw  attention 
to  the  subject,  and  his  own  theory  professes  to  be  little 
more  than  a  reproduction  of  the  Aristotelian.  But  the 
most  recent  discussions  on  the  subject,  even  among  the 
expositors  of  the  psychology  of  evolutionism,  follow 
the  essential  line  of  the  same  theory,  happily  enriching 
it  with  a  new  wealth  of  illustration  from  the  vast  range 
of  modem  biological  science.^ 

Stripped  of  the  technical  and  even  scholastic  language 
in  which  it  has  sometimes  been  unnecessarily  dressed, 
the  theory  may  be  summarised  in  the  following  brief 
statement :  — 

All  our  conscious  states  —  our  activities  and  passivi- 
ties equally  —  are  capable  of  various  degrees  both  of  in- 
tensity and  of  duration.    Still,  they  are  limited,  and  that 

*  The  completest  exposition  of  Aristotle's  own  theory  is  in  the 
Nicomachean  Ethics,  Boole  X.  Sir  W.  Hamilton  devotes  to  the  subject 
the  last  six  of  his  Lectures  on  Metaphysics  (compare  my  Outline  of  Sir 
W.  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  pp.  195-222).  Mill's  Examination  of  Ham- 
ilton's Philosophy  contains  a  chapter  (the  twenty-fifth)  of  hostile  crit- 
icism on  the  theory.  In  Dallas's  The  Oay  Science  (Chaps.  X.-XIII.) 
will  be  found  an  exposition  of  the  theory  with  charming  orij^inality  of 
illustration,  and  a  chivalrous  championship  of  Hamilton  against  Mill's 
attack.  Among  recent  discussions  by  evolutionists,  the  chief  worli  to 
be  consulted  la,  of  course,  Spencer's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  II., 
Chap.  IX.,  with  which  compare  his  Data  of  Ethics,  Chap.  X,  ;  but  a 
prominent  place  must  be  accorded  to  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  Physiological 
Esthetics,  especially  Chap.  II.  A  history  of  theories  is  given  by 
Ilamilton,  and  also  by  Wundt  (Physioloyische  Psychologies  Vol.  I., 
pp.  494-499).  In  regard  to  more  recent  theories  some  information  will 
be  found  in  Pleasure,  Pain,  and  jEsthctics,  by  II.  R.  Marshall  (1894). 
Mr.  Marshall's  own  theory,  which  is  by  no  moans  hostile  to  the  Aris- 
totelian, is  to  the  effect  that  pleasure  results  from  an  action  which  is 
due  to  surplus  energy  ;  pain,  from  an  action  for  which  the  energy  at 
dit^poBal  is  inadequate,  —  that  is,  "  less  in  amount  than  the  energy 
which  the  stimulus  habitually  calls  forth."  Jodl's  interpretation  of 
the  phenomena  runs  generally  along  Aristotelian  lines.  See  his  Lehr- 
huch,  pp.  391-392  and  402. 


376  PSYCHOLOGY 

in  two  ways.  Tliere  is,  firstly,  an  absolute  or  ultimate 
limit  to  the  intensity  and  duration  of  any  state,  —  a 
limit  which  cannot  by  any  exertion  be  overstepped. 
There  is,  besides,  a  natural  or  ordinary  limit,  —  that  is, 
a  limit  which  the  mental  state  tends  spontaneously  to 
reach,  but  which  may  be  exceeded  by  an  extraordinary 
exertion.  This  limit  may  be  defined  in  various  ways. 
It  is  here  spoken  of  as  natural,  because  it  is  the  limit 
to  which  a  mental  state  tends  by  its  very  nature.  As 
affording  a  norm  or  rule  for  moderating  the  ordinary 
stimulation  of  a  mental  state,  it  may  be  called  the  normal 
limit.  It  is  also  the  limit  of  health :  if  it  is  not  usually 
reached,  the  organ  or  power  called  into  play  becomes 
atrophied;  if  it  is  usually  transgressed,  hypertrophy 
and  destructive  waste  ensue.  Pleasure,  then,  may  be 
defined  as  the  consciousness  arising  from  the  stimulation 
of  a  mental  state  to  its  normal  limit,  and  no  further; 
pain,  as  the  consciousness  arising  from  a  mental  state 
being  strained  beyond,  or  restrained  within,  that  limit. 
According  to  this  law,  therefore,  those  actions  give 
pleasure  which  fulfil  the  conditions  of  healthy  life; 
those,  on  the  contrary,  give  pain  in  w^hich  these  con- 
ditions are  violated.  Accordingly  it  has  been  pointed 
out  by  recent  evolutionists  that  this  is  precisely  the 
course  which  the  development  of  life  would  take  through 
a  struggle  for  existence  in  which  the  fittest  survive, 
as  it  has  been  held  from  of  old  that  the  arrangement  is 
a  beneficent  provision  which  the  wise  Author  of  l^ature 
has  made  for  the  preservation  of  the  individual  and  the 
continuance  of  the  species.-^ 

^  It  may  be  interesting  to  compare  with  Spencer's  Data  of  Ethics 
Ferguson's  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Science,  Part  II.,  Chap.  I., 
§  6.     See  also  Jodl,  Op.  cit.,  p.  384,  note. 


FEELINGS  377 

But  the  abstract  statement  of  this  theory  of  pleasure 
and  pain  calls  for  some  explanatory  remarks  in  order 
to  understand  its  interpretation  of  our  emotional  life. 
It  may  therefore  be  considered  proper  at  the  outset  to 
notice  an  objection  which  appears  in  Mr.  Mill's  criticism 
of  the  theory.  The  objection  is  urged  in  an  observation 
made  by  Sir  W.  Hamilton  himself.  "  When,"  he  says, 
"  it  is  required  of  us  to  explain  particularly  and  in  detail 
why  the  rose,  for  example,  produces  this  sensation  of 
smell,  assafoetida  that  other,  and  so  forth,  and  in  what 
peculiar  action  does  the  perfect  or  pleasurable,  and  the 
imperfect  or  painful,  activity  of  an  organ  consist,  we 
must  at  once  profess  our  ignorance."  Mr.  Mill  cites 
this  confession  as  implying  that  Hamilton  was  himself 
"  more  than  half  aware  "  of  his  theory  being  unable  to 
fit  all  the  facts.  But,  in  spite  of  MilFs  demand,  Ham- 
ilton's assertion  holds  good  with  regard  to  all  theories, 
that  "  in  general  we  may  account  for  much ;  in  detail 
we  can  rarely  account  for  anything."  There  is  not 
an  animal  or  plant,  not  a  star  in  space  or  a  pebble  on 
the  seashore,  whose  position  and  shape  and  properties 
we  are  able  to  explain  in  complete  detail.  The  utmost 
we  can  do  is  to  show  how,  if  we  were  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  each  individual  object,  every  detail  in 
reference  to  it  might  admit  of  being  explained;  but  to 
show  how  each  detail  has  actually  been  brought  about 
is  beyond  the  power  of  the  most  industrious  intellect.^ 

*  After  remarking  that  not  a  solitary  fact  has  been  adduced  "  of 
which  It  can  be  said,  this  Is  Irreconcilable  with  the  Darwinian  theory," 
Huxley  goes  on  to  observe :  "  In  the  prodigious  variety  and  complexity 
of  organic  nature  there  are  multitudes  of  phenomena  which  are  not 
deduclble  from  any  generalisations  we  have  yet  reached.  But  the  same 
may  be  said  of  every  other  class  of  natural  objects.  I  believe  that 
astronomers  cannot  j'et  get  the  moon's  motions  into  perfect  accordance 
with  the  theory  of  gravitation"  (Darwin's  Life, \ol.  I.,  p.  552,  Amer.  ed.). 


378  PSYCHOLOGY 

This  inability,  however,  does  not  militate  against  our 
extending  to  unknowTi  facts  a  theory  which  furnishes 
a  simple  explanation  of  all  the  kno^vn  facts  of  the  same 
class.  From  the  accidental  limitations  of  human 
knowledge  we  may  be  unable  to  explain  how  certain 
facts  have  been  in  all  their  minutest  details  the  result 
of  a  certain  law;  our  ignorance  does  not  imply  that  we 
know  the  facts  to  be  incompatible  with  the  law.  Now 
it  is  true  that  in  many  cases  we  cannot  tell  how  the 
pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  a  particular  mental 
state  has  actually  been  produced.  It  is  sufficient  to  be 
able  to  show  how,  if  w^e  were  fully  acquainted  with  the 
process  at  work  in  such  mental  states,  their  pleasant  or 
painful  nature  would  be  seen  to  flow  from  the  general 
law  of  pleasure  and  pain. 

But  this  is  precisely  what  we  are  able  to  do  in 
reference  even  to  our  simple  sensations.  Take,  by  way 
of  example,  an  unpleasantly  sour  taste.  We  know  the 
destructive  action  of  powerful  acids  on  all  animal 
tissues  even  of  the  toughest  sort.  Is  it  an  illegitimate 
supposition  that  milder  acids,  like  those  of  unripe  fruit, 
which  do  not  actually  disintegrate  the  gustative  organs, 
but  merely  produce  an  unpleasant  taste,  set  up  a  vio- 
lent activity  in  these  organs,  and  that  this  excessive 
strain  is  the  cause  of  the  painful  sensation  ?  For  we 
know  that  an  activity  of  the  same  kind,  but  more  mod- 
erate in  degree,  such  as  is  excited  by  the  delicate  acids 
of  many  common  fruits  when  ripe,  is  capable  of  afford- 
ing one  of  the  most  pleasant  tastes.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  is  worth  observing  that  if  an  acid  of  this  sort  is 
extremely  diluted,  it  is  apt  to  excite  that  unsatisfactory 
feeling  which  appears  due  to  an  imperfect  stimulation; 


FEELINGS  379 

and  in  such  circumstances  the  sapid  body  is  appropri- 
ately spoken  of  as  insipid  or  tasteless.  But  it  is  evident 
that  the  full  explanation  of  such  phenomena  must  wait 
upon  the  progress  of  physiology  in  disclosing  the  nature 
of  the  organic  processes  concerned  in  our  various 
sensations. 

But  whatever  judgment  may  be  passed  on  Mr.  MilFs 
criticism,  there  are  evidently  not  a  few  facts  connected 
with  our  emotional  life  which  receive  an  interesting 
interpretation  in  the  light  of  this  theory.  Among  these 
prominence  may  be  given  to  a  fact  which  has  often  been 
noticed,  that,  on  the  one  hand,  feelings  which  seem 
intrinsically  painful  sometimes  give  pleasure,  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  feelings  which  seem  intrinsically 
pleasant  sometimes  give  pain.  Occasionally  this  may 
be  due,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  influence  of  associated 
feelings;  that  is  to  say,  a  pain  may  be  swamped  by 
the  associated  pleasures,  a  pleasure  by  the  associated 
pains,  which  it  suggests.  Thus,  for  example,  the  nat- 
ural pleasure  derived  from  a  ^vrong  action  may  be 
completely  neutralised  by  moral  horror  at  the  wrong 
involved  in  the  pleasure,  while  the  natural  pain  of  self- 
sacrifice  may  be  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the 
exultant  joy  of  its  moral  triumph.  But  such  transitions 
between  pleasure  and  pain  are  undoubtedly  due  often 
to  the  varying  degree  to  which  feelings  are  excited. 
To  explain,  it  may  be  observed  that  some  feelings  appear 
to  depend  for  their  pleasurable  or  painful  character  on 
their  intrinsic  qualities.  This  is  the  case,  as  Wundt 
points  out,^  especially  with  those  sensations  in  which, 
as  in  tastes,  odours,  and  the  feelings  of  organic  life, 

»  Phyaiolouiache  Paychologie,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  470-471  (2d  ed.). 


380  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  consciousness  is  mainly  taken  up  with  the  pleasure 
or  pain  received.  Thus,  in  distinguishing  tastes  of  a 
sweet  quality  from  those  of  a  bitter  quality,  we  com- 
monly attach  an  intrinsic  agreeableness  to  the  former, 
an  intrinsic  disagreeableness  to  the  latter.  So,  as  al- 
ready observed,  smells  are  in  general  distinguished  only 
by  their  agreeable  and  disagreeable  qualities.  In  like 
manner,  certain  emotions,  such  as  love  and  hope,  seem 
to  be  intrinsically  delightful,  while  others,  like  fear 
and  hate,  seem  intrinsically  painful.  Now  if  it  were 
really  the  natural  quality  of  a  feeling  which  yielded 
its  pleasure  or  its  pain,  it  w^ould  involve  an  irreconcil- 
able contradiction  to  speak  of  a  painful  feeling  giving 
pleasure,  or  a  pleasant  feeling  giving  pain. 

But  the  truth  is  indicated  by  our  theory;  it  is  not 
the  essential  quality  of  any  conscious  state  that  makes 
it  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  but  its  accordance  or  dis- 
cordance with  the  limit  of  healthy  exercise.  This  will 
appear  from  both  sides  of  the  fact  under  consideration. 

I.  The  transition  of  generally  painful  feelings  into 
an  agreeable  state  is  experienced  where  it  might  be 
least  expected,  —  in  sensation,  where  it  might  be  sup- 
posed that,  as  there  is  a  physical  basis  for  the  pain, 
there  must  be  a  physical  barrier  against  its  yielding  to 
an  opposite  feeling.  Yet  we  know  that  beverages  and 
viands  disagreeable  at  first  come  to  be  indulged  in  with 
even  a  greedy  relish.  Habits,  like  smoking,  snuffing, 
chewing  tobacco,  are  sometimes  practised  by  the  begin- 
ner with  positive  disgust,  but  become  after  a  while  the 
sources  of  a  fascinating  pleasure.  It  seems  as  if  in 
these  and  kindred  sensations  the  limit  of  healthy,  and 
therefore  of  agreeable,  stimulation  were  very  near  the 


FEELINGS  381 

limit  where  consciousness  begins;  and  consequently 
even  a  faint  stimulation  is  apt  to  overstep  the  limit  of 
pleasure.  But  a  persistent  exercise  of  the  organ  on 
which  the  stimulant  acts  seems  to  produce  such  a  modi- 
fication of  its  structure,  to  impart  such  a  strength  or 
toughness  to  its  tissues,  as  enables  it  to  stand  a  degree 
of  excitement  which  would  previously  have  been  unen- 
durable. This  is  confirmed  by  the  familiar  fact  that 
the  longer  such  a  habit  is  indulged,  and  the  more  exces- 
sive the  indulgence,  the  greater  is  the  quantity  of  stim- 
ulus required  to  yield  the  gi'atification  craved,  — 

*'  As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 
By  what  it  fed  on." 

It  is  but  an  extension  of  this  explanation  to  suppose 
that  emotions,  like  grief  and  fear,  which  are  apparently 
painful  in  their  very  nature,  are  so  in  reality  only 
because  they  scarcely  admit  of  any  indulgence  without 
transgressing  the  limits  of  healthy  action.  Feelings  of 
the  irascible  type,  for  example,  in  all  their  ordinary 
outbursts  imply  too  violent  a  disturbance  of  our  sen- 
sitive nature  to  be  capable  of  yielding  any  pure  enjoy- 
ment; and  yet  the  proverbial  sweetness  of  revenge  is 
a  proof  that  those  passions  do  form  the  source  of  a 
strong  gratification.  Moreover,  prolonged  or  excessive 
indulgence  produces  here  the  same  effect  as  in  the  case 
of  the  unpleasant  sensations  which  are  converted  into 
pleasure;  the  man  who  continues  to  find  delight  in  the 
indulgence  of  malicious  feelings  may  be  hardened  into 
a  coarse  insensibility  to  human  sympathies  that  will 
lead  him  to  seek  his  hideous  gratification  in  strong 
stimulants  of  envy  and  spite  and  cruel  revenge,  from 
which  ordinary  minds  shrink  with  horror. 


382  PSYCHOLOGY 

But  we  need  not  dwell  further  on  the  malevolent  side 
of  human  nature,  as  it  will  require  to  be  considered 
fully  in  the  sequel,  when  the  source  of  its  gratifications 
may  be  more  appropriately  examined.  In  the  instances 
which  have  just  been  described,  feelings  that  are  usually 
painful  are  made  to  give  pleasure  by  raising  the  normal 
limit  of  healthy  excitement,  and  thus  enabling  the  mind 
to  bear  a  more  powerful  stimulant.  But  there  are  in- 
stances in  which  the  same  result  is  reached  in  another 
way,  —  by  lowering  the  intensity  of  the  stimulation. 
Here,  too,  the  effect  can  be  traced  in  bodily  sensation. 
Thus,  as  already  observed,  the  strong  disagreeable  acid 
of  unripe  fruit  gives  way  to  the  agreeable  mild  acid  of 
the  same  fruit  ripened.  But  the  most  interesting  effects 
of  this  kind  are  found  in  the  region  of  emotion.  An  ex- 
ample of  these  is  furnished  by  one  of  the  main  branches 
of  literature.  Tragedy  plays  upon  the  painful  emotions 
of  the  human  soul.  These  emotions,  when  aroused  by 
causes  in  the  world  of  reality,  commonly  imply  an 
excitement  too  serious  for  any  sort  of  pleasure.  They 
may  indeed,  as  we  have  seen,  afford  a  gratification  to 
coarse  natures  that  crave  strong  emotional  stimulants, 
or  to  morbid  sensibilities  that  feed  on  excitement.  But 
to  most  minds  that  seek  recreation  in  literature  the 
tragedy  of  real  life  is  too  shocking.  An  ideal  represen- 
tation of  life's  tragedies,  however,  excites  the  appropri- 
ate sentiments  in  such '  a  moderate  degree  as  involves 
no  unwholesome  strain  upon  our  sensibility,  and  fulfils 
thereby  the  condition  of  pleasurable  indulgence.  These 
remarks  are  not,  of  course,  intended  to  be  understood 
as  discovering  the  source  of  all  the  enjoyment  that  is 
derived  from  tragic  literature..    It  is  obvious,  for  ex- 


FEELINGS  383 

ample,  that  part  of  this  enjoyment  must  be  due  to 
the  aesthetic  gratification  afforded  by  literary  art.  But 
greater  than  all  the  mere  delight  in  artistic  workman- 
ship is  the  pleasurable  excitement  which  is  felt  in  the 
emotions  themselves  that  are  aroused  by  the  ideal  pic- 
tures of  tragedy;  and  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  philo- 
sophical critics,  without  any  design  of  establishing  a 
psychological  theory,  have  yet  sometimes  analysed  the 
pleasure  felt  in  tragedy  as  if  they  were  expressly  illus- 
trating the  theory  of  pleasure  and  pain  which  is  now 
vmder  consideration.^  A  further  result  of  this  theory 
is  the  rule  of  poetic  art  which  demands  that  a  tragedy 
shall  not  be  excessive  or  without  relief;  and  it  becomes 
a  fair  question  of  criticism  whether  some  great  poems, 
such  as  even  King  Lear  and  Othello,  do  not  transgress 
the  limits  which  are  required  for  poetic  effect.  Besides 
this  objective  rule  for  the  artist,  the  same  psychological 
principle  lays  down  a  subjective  rule  for  those  who 
would  enjoy  a  w^ork  of  tragic  art;  and  that  is,  to  choose 
the  conditions  imder  w^hich  the  work  is  to  be  studied, 
such  as  not  only  the  cheerful  or  sorrowful  state  of  the 
mind,  but  also  the  healthy  or  disordered  state  of  the 
body,  and  even  external  circumstances,  like  sunshine  or 
gloom,  by  which  the  mood  of  the  mind  is  apt  to  be 
affected. 

The  emotions  which  since  the  time  of  Aristotle  have 
been  regarded  as  pre-eminently  the  materials  of  tragedy 
are  pity  and  terror,  or,  as  they  might  perhaps  be  more 
accurately  described,  sympathy  with  grief  and  sympathy 
with  fear.^     Yet  grief  and  fear  are,  of  all  emotions, 

*  See  Hume's  well-known  essay  On  Tragedy  (Essayn,  Part  I.,  22). 
The  quotation  from  Fontenelle  la  ospeolally  interoKtinK. 

"  See  some  capital  remarks  on  this  point  In  Dallas's  The  Gay  Science, 
Vol.  II.,  pp.  53-59. 


384  PSYCHOLOGY 

precisely  those  which  force  us,  amid  the  realities  of 
life,  to  face  suffering  without  disguise.  There  is  noth- 
ing, however,  better  established  in  experience  than  the 
fact  that  these  very  emotions  are  capable  of  being  trans- 
formed into  pleasurable  excitements. 

1.  Take,  for  example,  fear.  Even  when  it  is  not 
without  ground  in  real  danger,  it  is  yet  capable  of 
being  toned  dovni  so  as  to  yield  a  genuine,  though  strong 
enjoyment,  to  men  at  least  of  robust  nerve.  It  has 
often  been  observed  that  not  a  few  sports  owe  their  joy- 
ous stimulation  in  no  slight  measure  to  the  excitement 
of  the  genuine  peril  which  they  involve.  The  ascent 
in  a  balloon,  the  shooting  of  a  rapid  in  a  canoe,  the 
hunt  of  the  tiger  and  other  beasts  of  prey,  perhaps 
even  the  glory  of  a  battle-charge, 

"  And  that  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 
In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel," 

are  instances  in  which  even  a  well-grounded  fear  does 
not  surpass  the  limit  of  pleasure  when  the  sensibility 
has  the  toughness  of  vigorous  health.  But  the  purest 
pleasure  of  this  stimulant  is  felt  when  it  is  drawn  from 
imaginary  sources ;  and  it  is  not  merely  the  drama,  but 
other  forms  of  literature  as  well,  that  take  advantage 
of  its  power.  Here,  therefore,  is  disclosed  the  secret  of 
the  spell  which  poet  or  story-teller  may  weave  from  tales 
of  horror,  and  from  all  the  weird  imagery  that  clothes 
the  mysterious  agents  of  an  antique  superstition. 

2.  A  similar  fact  is  noticeable  in  the  case  of  the 
other  tragic  emotion.  It  has  often  been  observed  that 
after  the  first  shock  of  a  bereavement  is  over,  the  heart 
seems  to  become  accustomed  to  the  natural  feeling  of 
sorrow,   yearns   even  after  the  indulgence,   and   finds 


.FEELINGS  385 

a  solace  in  the  sad  exercise.  Sir  William  Hamilton 
has  cited  numerous  references  to  this  strange  experience 
of  sorrowing  minds ;  *  but  he  has  apparently  overlooked 
the  most  exquisite  expression  that  it  has  ever  found, 
when  Queen  Constance,  justifying  herself  against 
Philip's  complaint  that  she  had  become  "  as  fond  of 
grief  as  of  her  child,"  pleads :  — 

"  Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me, 
Puts  on  his  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
StufEs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form. 
Then  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief."  ^ 

If,  even  in  the  real  calamities  of  life,  the  heart  may 
thus  find  pleasure  in  dallying  with  its  own  woe,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  literature  should  seize  upon  a  fact  so 
favourable  to  its  effects.  ISTot  only,  therefore,  does  the 
agreeable  stimulation  of  grief  form  one  of  the  principal 
charms  of  tragic  representation  in  the  drama  as  well  as 
in  the  narratives  of  history  and  fiction,  but  in  all  poetry 
still  the  favourite  theme  is  II  Penseroso, — 

"  The  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought." 

It  need  scarcely  be  added  that  while  for  convenience 
illustrations  have  been  drawm  from  literature,  the  same 
principle  must  explain  the  charm  of  pathos  in  all  the 
arts. 

II.  But  the  coimterpart  of  the  fact  we  have  been 
considering  affords  an  equally  remarkable  illustration 
of  the  law  on  which  pleasure  and  pain  depend.  Feel- 
ings that  seem  in  their  essential  nature  pleasant  may 

»  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  Vol.   II.,  pp.  482-483. 
»  King  John,  Act  III.,  Scene  4. 


386  PSYCHOLOGY 

be  rendered  painful  by  repression  or  by  excess.  This, 
too,  is  experienced,  even  in  the  case  of  sensations  where 
it  might  be  supposed  that  there  is  a  physical  necessity 
for  the  pleasure.  The  experience  is  extremely  familiar 
in  connection  with  the  manifold  forms  of  physical 
enjoyment  which  the  strong  and  healthy  find  in  mus- 
cular exercise ;  the  moment  the  limit  of  health  is  passed, 
the  moment  an  injurious  waste  sets  in,  that  moment  a 
warning  is  sounded  in  consciousness  by  the  pleasure  of 
exertion  giving  place  to  the  pain  of  fatigue.  But  the 
same  result  is  observed  also  in  the  indulgence  of  the 
passive  sensations.  Every  child  soon  learns,  by  some 
uncomfortable  experience, 

"  To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  little 
More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much."  ^ 

There  is  a  point,  also,  which  the  most  delicious  fragrance 
may  not  exceed;  a  slight  increase  in  its  intensity  may 
transform  it  into  a  nuisance. 

"  Against  the  blown  rose  may  they  stop  their  nose, 
That  kneeled  unto  the  buds."  ^ 

In  the  more  rapturous  enjoyments  of  music,  also,  it  may 
occasionally  happen  that 

"  Sounds  overflow  the  listener's  brain 
So  sweet  that  joy  is  almost  pain."  ^ 

But  here  it  is  surely  unnecessary  to  enter  into  further 
details;  all  that  has  ever  been  written  on  the  disagree- 
ableness  of  surfeits  might  be  cited  in  illustration  of  the 
same  truth. 

In  sensations  like  those  mentioned  which  seem  intrin- 

»  King  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  III.,  Scene  2. 

*  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Act  III.,  Scene  11. 

'  Shelley's  Prometheus  Unbound,  Act  II.,  Scene  2. 


FEELI:N'GS  387 

sically  pleasant,  it  must  be  supposed  that  the  limit  of 
healthy  activity  for  the  sentient  organ  is  considerably 
above  the  verge  of  consciousness,  and  that  therefore  the 
sensation  in  all  ordinary  degrees  is  a  source  of  pleasure. 
But  it  is  evident  that  the  pleasure  arises  from  no 
inherent  quality  of  the  sensation:  it  arises  from  the 
healthy  moderation  of  the  exercise  which  it  involves,  and 
is  therefore  neutralised  by  excess. 

Familiar  facts  oblige  us  to  extend  the  same  law  to  our 
emotions.  The  experience  of  men  under  all  conditions 
has  been  that  no  cup  of  joy  can  ever  be  safely  drained 
to  the  very  dregs.  Every  attempt  to  charge  our'  plea- 
sures with  an  undue  intensity,  or  to  prolong  them  for  an 
undue  length  of  time,  is  inevitably  frustrated  by  the 
irreversible  laws  of  our  nature.  And  therefore  even 
when  life  thrills  with  a  moment  of  ecstatic  joy,  there 
often  shoots  through  consciousness  a  pang  from  feeling 
that  the  intensity  of  bliss  cannot  be  sustained,  that  we 
are  trembling  on  the  verge,  where  a  breath  may  decide 
whether  pleasure  or  pain  is  to  prevail.  Perhaps  it  is 
this  psychical  experience  that  has  found  a  crude  relig- 
ious embodiment  in  the  ancient  Pagan  superstition  with 
regard  to  the  envy  of  the  gods.^  At  all  events  it  is  a  sig- 
nificant fact,  in  the  expression  of  emotion,  that  our  joys 
at  a  certain  point  of  intensity  go  over  into  tears,  just 
like  our  sorrows.     This  emotional  transition  has  been 

^  The  persistence  of  this  superstition  is  remarliable.  If  we  cannot 
fairly  ascribe  to  Alschylos  himself  the  sentiment  of  the  passage  In 
Afjamcmnon  (7130  and  foil.),  it  comes  out  unmistakably  in  the  speech 
of  Niklas  to  his  soldiers  {Thukydidcs,  VII.,  77).  Lloyd  {Age  of  Pericles, 
Vol.  II.,  p.  307)  seems  mistaken  in  regarding  this  as  expressing  the 
historian's  own  view.  See  Thuk.,  VII.,  50.  But  two  generations  later 
It  was  still  prevalent  enough  to  justify  explicit  refutation  by  Aristotle 
(Met.,  I.,  2,  10)  ;  and  this  appears  to  be  the  first  rationallBtic  criticism 
to  which  it  was  subjected. 


388  PSYCHOLOGY 

taken  up  by  Mrs.  Browning  in  a  sonnet  bearing  the  sig- 
nificant title,  Pain  in  Pleasure;  and  that  is  a  wise 
caution  of  the  Psaknist  to  "  rejoice  with  trembling." 
This  tendency  of  emotional  life  has  indeed  opened  an 
inexhaustible  theme  for  the  moralist  in  all  ages,  found- 
ing, as  it  does,  on  an  unassailable  basis  the  injunction  to 
moderation  in  all  our  enjoyments.  In  an  often-quoted 
passage  from  Romeo  and  Juliet  this  moral  precept  is 
actually  based  on  the  psychological  law  with  which  it  is 
here  connected;  and  the  law  is  itself  illustrated  by 
reference  to  the  very  phenomena  already  noticed  of 
pleasant  sensations  becoming  in  excess  disagreeable. 

"  These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends 
And  in  their  triumph  die,  like  fire  and  powder, 
Which  as  they  kiss  consume.     The  sweetest  honey 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness, 
And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  appetite. 
Therefore  love  moderately ;  long  love  doth  so : 
Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as  too  slow."  ^ 

It  may  be  added,  as  a  counterpart  to  the  remark  made 
above  in  reference  to  tragedy,  that  comic  art  is  governed 
by  the  same  psychological  principle.  There  is  a  humour 
that  is  pleasant  to  some,  but  too  broad  —  that  is,  too  stim- 
ulating —  for  others.  Every  individual,  moreover, 
varies  in  his  appreciation  of  humour  according  to  his 
varying  moods. 

Besides  the  double   fact,   now  illustrated,   of  pains 
becoming    pleasant    and    pleasures    painful,    there    is 

*  Act  II.,   Scene  6.     Compare  the  apposite  passage  In  Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village:  — 

"  In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain  ; 
And,  e'en  when  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart  distrusting  asks,  if  this  be  joy  ?  " 


FEELINGS  389 

another  feature  of  our  emotional  life  which  also 
receives  explanation  from  the  law  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
The  law  leads  us  to  expect  that  pain  may  bo  produced 
by  opposite  causes,  —  by  defective  exercise  as  well  as  by 
excess.  This  expectation  seems  in  many  cases  to  be 
realised.  In  illustrating  the  statement  that  a  taste  of 
sour  quality  is  not  intrinsically  disagreeable,  it  was 
pointed  out  that  when  of  moderate  strength,  as  in  the 
delicate  acids  of  many  fruits,  sourness  is  rather  agree- 
able, and  that  it  becomes  disagreeable  either  by  excess, 
as  in  the  strong  acids  of  unripe  fruits,  or  by  defect,  as  in 
an  insipid  dilution.  The  same  observation  may  be  made 
in  reference  to  sweet  tastes,  only  that  the  limit  of  agree- 
able intensity  is  higher  than  in  the  taste  of  acids.  The 
contrast  bet"ween  pains  of  excess  and  those  of  defect  is 
not  so  obtrusive  in  other  sensations ;  yet  here  and  there 
it  may  be  traced.  Thus  an  aromatic  substance,  like  the 
odoriferous  fruits,  may  in  course  of  putrefaction  become 
so  strongly  scented  as  to  be  offensive,  while  it  excites  a 
milder  dissatisfaction  also  when  its  aroma  is  gone.  In 
colour-decorations  an  excessive  display  of  the  powerfully 
stimulating  tints  at  the  red  end  of  the  spectrum  may 
derive  its  disagreeableness,  partly,  if  not  wholly,  from 
the  surfeit  of  the  eye,  while  a  superabundance  of  the 
milder  greens  and  blues,  and,  still  more,  of  neutral  tints, 
may  owe  its  unpleasant  effect  to  the  disappointment  aris- 
ing from  imperfect  stimulation.  Most  of  these  forms  of 
unsatisfying  sensation  are  without  names,  probably  from 
the  fact  that  they  are  not  sufficiently  obtrusive  in  human 
life  to  require  specific  mention  often ;  but  it  is  one  of  the 
earliest  lessons  of  all  science  to  learn  that  the  variety  of 
natur^   is   not   to   be   restricted   by   the   imperfections 


390  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  human  language.  Here,  fortunately,  the  want  of 
specilic  names  is  compensated  by  a  common  artifice  of 
language.  The  most  familiar  instance  of  unpleasantness 
arising  from  defective  sensation  is  met  with  among  our 
tastes;  and,  as  in  numberless  other  cases,  the  typical 
representative  of  a  class  is  used  to  provide  a  name  for  all 
the  rest.  Salt  that  has  lost  its  savour,  viands  in  which 
the  customary  seasoning  is  missed,  the  extreme  dilution 
of  any  flavour,  —  these  have  long  been  taken  as  types  of 
everything  that  fails  to  impart  an  adequate  zest  to  our 
enjoyments.  Insipidity  has  therefore  become  a  term 
of  extensive  application  to  feelings  of  an  unsatisfying 
nature.^ 

These  feelings  are  met  with  throughout  the  entire 
range  of  our  emotional  life ;  but  probably  they  are  to  be 
found  in  their  most  striking  form  in  connection  with  the 
general  exercise  of  our  powers.  The  happiness  of  life  as 
a  whole  must  depend  on  our  having  sufficient  occupation 
to  afford  an  agreeable  stimulation  of  feeling.  It  is  true 
that  the  necessities  of  life  compel  most  men  to  work 
beyond  the  limit  of  health  and  pleasure :  the  minute  sub- 
division of  labour  in  modem  times,  moreover,  aggravates 
this  evil  by  withholding  the  relief  of  variety  in  occupa- 
tion, demanding,  as  it  generally  does,  the  special  exercise 
of  one  power  or  one  set  of  powers  to  excess.  It  is  there- 
fore the  irksomeness  of  excessive  toil  that  is  most 
frequently  forced  on  our  attention,  as  indeed  it  is  the 
pains  of  excess  that  are  in  general  the  more  obtrusive. 

*  Various  other  terms,  though  not  more  specific  than  insipid,  are 
also  employed  to  denote  the  same  idea  of  the  unsatisfactoriness  of 
deficient  stimulation  of  the  feelings,  such  as  dull,  sloic,  flat,  stale,  vapid, 
spiritless,  lifeless,  dead,  dead-alive.  The  emotional  state  must  therefore 
be  familiar  enough  in  ordinary  life. 


rEELi:N^GS  391 

Still,  the  irksomeness  arising  from  an  unsatisfactory 
amount  of  activity  is  not  the  loss  a  fact. 

"  Absence  of  occupation  is  not  rest, 
A  mind  quite  vacant  is  a  mind  distressed."  ^ 

This  is  the  unpleasantness  that  we  name  tedium,  ennui. 
The  Germans  name  it  well  Langeweile ;  for  in  this  state 
all  time  seems  a  long  while,  it  passes  so  slowly.  Accord- 
ingly it  is  to  escape  from  this  condition  that  men  in- 
vent the  various  devices  appropriately  called  pastimes; 
and  when  time  by  its  dreariness  appears  like  a  foe  to 
be  got  rid  of,  men  are  not  unwilling  to  "  kill  time  "  by 
engaging  even  in  laborious  sports  or  feverish  excitements 
like  gambling. 

Perhaps  in  the  light  of  these  facts  we  may  find 
an  explanation  of  the  sad  phenomena  of  satiety.  Vari- 
ation of  stimulus  is  essential  to  consciousness ;  but  even 
a  change  perpetually  rung  on  the  old  set  of  objects  be- 
gins after  a  while  to  be  followed  by  more  languid  feel- 
ings. Novelty  is  therefore  essential  to  enjoyment  as 
well  as  variety,  both  being  necessary  to  stimulate  feeling 
to  the  lowest  limit  of  pleasure.  But  most  lives  are  re- 
stricted within  a  comparatively  narrow  sphere,  and  what- 
ever variety  they  may  enjoy  cannot  long  continue  to  find 
scope  for  novelty  of  impression.  Accordingly,  if  the 
mind  has  opportunities  of  reflection,  there  is  apt  to 
arise,  in  varying  degrees  of  intensity,  a  feeling  of  dis- 
satisfaction with  circumstances  as  unable  to  afford 
adequate  stimulation  in  consequence  of  having  lost  their 
freshness.  This  feeling  may  attach  itself  merely  to 
single   obje<jts  which   from   long  familiarity  have  lost 

^  Cowper's  Retirement. 


392  PSYCHOLOGY 

their  power  to  please.  But  it  may  also  extend  to  the 
whole  surroundings ;  and  if  no  beneficent  necessity  pre- 
vents the  sensibility  from  morbidly  preying  on  itself, 
the  result  may  be  a  state  of  intolerable  discontent  with 
the  general  insipidity  of  life. 

"  How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world !  "  i 

In  this  state  of  feeling  may  we  not  see  the  source  of  all 
those  pessimistic  systems  of  thought  which  find  in  hu- 
man life  nothing  worth  living  for  ?  This  incapability  of 
receiving  pleasure  from  the  feeble  excitement  of  objects 
that  are  no  longer  new  may  explain  also  the  fact,  often 
referred  to  by  the  poets,  that  to  young  eyes  there  is 
thrown  over  nature  a  glamour  which  vanishes  with  ad- 
vancing years. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light. 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore ; 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 
By  night  or  day. 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more."  ^ 

^  Hamlet,  Act  I.,  Scene  2.  The  citation  of  Hamlet  suggests  that  the 
student  will  find  an  invaluable  subject  of  psychological  speculation  in 
the  mood  of  mind  which  has  been  immortalised  in  this  drama.  The 
same  life-weariness,  with  its  developments  in  human  character,  has 
formed  a  favourite  theme  with  the  poets  of  the  modern  world  ;  and  the 
student  may  derive  an  interest  from  comparing  in  this  connection  other 
celebrated  treatments  of  the  same  theme,  such  as  Byron's  Manfred,  and 
Tennyson's  Maud,  but  especially  Goethe's  Faust,  and  perhaps  also  the 
less  successful  reproductions  of  the  Faust  legend  by  Marlowe,  Miiller, 
I>enau,  and  Bailey.  There  are  some  admirable  remarks  on  this  mood 
of  the  soul,  with  a  general  reference  to  its  manifestations  in  life  and 
literature,  but  with  special  reference  to  his  Sorrows  of  Werther,  in 
Goethe's  WaJirheit  und  Dichtung,  Book  XIII. 

2  Wordsworth's  Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  the 
Becollectiona  of  Childhood. 


FEELINGS  393 

It  only  remains  to  add  that  another  influence  must  be 
taken  into  consideration  in  order  to  comprehend  ade- 
quately the  phenomena  of  our  pleasures  and  pains.  Our 
feelings  depend  for  their  pleasantness  or  painf ulness,  not 
solely  upon  themselves,  but  also  upon  the  relation  in 
which  they  stand  to  one  another.  There  are  two  results 
which  follow  from  this. 

1.  A  feeling  which,  if  allowed  free  play,  might  burst 
into  vigorous  activity  or  even  absorb  our  consciousness 
for  the  time,  may  be  held  in  check  or  perhaps  wholly 
submerged  by  another  feeling  of  an  opposite  nature  with 
which  it  happens  to  be  associated.  This  is  strikingly 
illustrated  by  the  fact  that  the  same  object  may  by  its 
different  aspects  awaken  extremely  different  feelings. 
Take,  for  example,  an  exhibition  of  vice  like  drunken- 
ness. By  his  droll  behaviour  the  drunkard  is  adapted 
to  excite  irrepressible  mirth  as  naturally  as,  by  his  deg- 
radation of  humanity,  a  feeling  of  pitiful  sorrow  or  of 
pitiless  scorn.  Take,  again,  aesthetic  feeling  or  taste. 
Its  vagaries  have  long  been  a  subject  of  common  remark. 
Nor  is  this  hard  to  explain,  for  such  feeling  is  often 
modified  or  entirely  neutralised  by  other  feelings  that  are 
out  of  harmony  with  it,  such  as  physical  pain,  mental 
suffering,  anger,  or  envy.  Nearly  all  the  objects  that 
excite  feeling  are  capable  of  being  viewed  in  a  variety 
of  aspects ;  and  consequently  our  emotional  life  is  in  most 
instances  of  a  complex  nature,  while  in  many  instances 
it  exhibits  a  strange  conflict  of  discordant  passions.  In 
such  combinations  it  depends  on  numerous  causes  which 
of  the  contending  emotions  is  to  prevail ;  but  it  will  bo 
found,  in  subsequent  analyses,  that  the  prevailing  emo- 
tion is  often  misinterpreted  from  failure  to  appreciate 


394  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  influence  of  the  others  with  which  it  may  have  been 
associated. 

2.  Another  important  fact  results  from  the  relation  of 
different  feelings.  A  feeling  may  owe  its  pleasantness 
or  painfulness  either  wholly  or  partially  to  its  contrast 
with  the  immediately  preceding  state  of  mind.  Thus  a 
mental  state  which  is  neutral  in  regard  to  pleasure  and 
pain  may  be  rendered  pleasant  by  being  a  relief  from  pre- 
vious suffering,  while  it  may  be  rendered  painful  by  the 
mere  want  of  some  previous  luxury.  By  the  same  cause, 
also,  our  pleasures  and  pains  may  be  intensified ;  and  it 
is  this  fact  that  gives  to  sudden  calamities  an  additional 
bitterness  as  well  as  an  additional  zest  to  unexpected 
good  news.  In  the  vicissitudes  of  life  this  character- 
istic of  our  pleasures  and  pains  finds  fresh  illustration 
every  day;  and  therefore  the  pleasures  of  vicissitude 
have  afforded  to  Gray  a  natural  theme  for  one  of  his 
finest  odes. 

"  See  the  wretch,  that  long  has  tost 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain, 
At  length  repair  his  vigour  lost 

And  breathe  and  walk  again : 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale. 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  paradise." 

These  facts  have  been  embodied  in  technical  language 
by  the  psychologists.  In  so  far  as  our  feelings  owe  their 
agreeable  and  disagreeable  characters  to  themselves, 
they  are  said  to  be  positive  or  absolute  pleasures  and 
pains.  On  the  other  hand,  the  terms  negative  and 
relative  are  used  when  pleasure  and  pain  are  due  to 
comparison  with  some  previous  feeling. 


FEELINGS  395 

§  2.  —  The  Expression  of  the  Feelings. 

Our  pleasures  and  pains  have  come  to  be  associated 
with  certain  bodily  actions,  so  that  these  can  be  inter- 
preted by  other  persons  as  signs  of  our  sensitive  con- 
dition at  the  time.  For  accuracy  three  classes  of  such 
signs  may  be  distinguished.  (1)  There  is  the  ordi- 
nary form  of  intelligent  expression  for  feeling  as  well 
as  thought  in  articulate  language.  This,  however,  is  a 
mode,  not  of  emotional  expression  in  particular,  but 
of  mental  expression  in  general,  and  consequently  it 
presents  no  claim  for  special  discussion  here.  (2)  There 
are  many  actions  which  are  at  first  voluntarily  adopted 
for  the  expression  of  various  feelings,  and  afterwards 
become  so  habitual  as  to  be  practically  automatic.  Such 
are  the  established  usages  of  courtesy  by  which  we 
express  kindliness,  respect,  and  other  social  feelings. 
Under  this  head  ought  to  be  included  also  the  numerous 
exclamations  which  different  persons  adopt  as  expres- 
sions of  joy,  surprise,  horror,  and  other  emotions.  All 
expressions  of  this  class  are  particular  in  their  char- 
acter. They  are  limited  to  particular  individuals  or 
to  particular  communities ;  and  their  various  forms  are 
often  determined  by  trivial  accidents,  so  that  they  sel- 
dom illustrate,  except  in  a  very  remote  way,  any  univer- 
sal law  of  human  nature.  (3)  But,  after  making  every 
allowance  for  these  two  modes  of  expressing  emotion, 
there  remain  other  expressive  actions  which  are  in  all 
men  apt  to  be  stimulated  by  certain  emotions,  and  which 
seem  therefore  to  be  connected  with  these  by  some  gen- 
eral law.  Such  are  the  paleness  of  fear  and  the  blush 
of  shame,  the  arching  of  the  eyebrows  and  opening  of 


396  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  mouth  under  the  influence  of  surprise,  the  furrow- 
ing of  the  hrow  into  a  frown  of  anger,  the  curling  of 
the  lip  into  a  sneer  of  scorn,  and  the  effusion  of  tears 
in  sorrow.  Even  the  internal  organs  of  the  body  are 
affected  by  various  emotions.  This  is  indicated  in  the 
use  of  the  word  heart,  as  well  as  of  its  equivalents  in 
other  languages,  as  a  general  name  for  the  sensibility. 
The  terms  melancholy  and  splenetic  connect  the  feelings 
they  express  with  the  liver  and  the  spleen  respectively; 
while  the  Greek  word  aifka'^^va  points  to  some  influ- 
ence of  compassion  on  the  bowels. 

These  phenomena  must  have  excited  speculation  at 
an  early  period.  The  surviving  works  of  the  ancient 
sculptors  show  that  these  artists  had  made  the  natural 
expressions  of  the  emotions  a  subject  of  careful  study. 
It  is  impossible,  also,  that  mimicry  and  the  histrionic 
art  could  have  attained  the  perfection  which  they  had 
reached  in  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  unless  play-actors 
had  made  at  least  an  empirical  acquaintance  with  the 
actions  in  which  feelings  are  commonly  expressed.  The 
so-called  science  of  physiognomy  may  also  be  said  to 
have  aimed  at  explaining  the  physical  expressions  of 
feeling,  though  it  went  generally  on  the  wrong  scent  by 
tracing  peculiarities  of  temperament  to  permanent  fea- 
tures of  anatomical  structure,  or  by  interpreting  them  in 
the  light  of  fanciful  resemblances  between  human  fea- 
tures and  those  of  the  lower  animals  which  were  supposed 
to  be  endowed  with  certain  natural  dispositions. 

A  new  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  study  may  be  dated 
from  the  publication  of  Sir  Charles  Bell's  Anatomy  and 
Philosophy  of  Expression  as  Connected  with  the  Fine 
Arts,  which  appeared  first  in  1806  as  a  set  of  somewhat 


FEELINGS  397 

fragmentary  essays,  afterwards  in  1844  in  a  greatly 
enlarged  form.  Another  epoch  is  marked  by  Mr.  Dar- 
win's Expression  of  the  Emotions  in  Man  and  Animals 
(1872).  This  work,  while  tracing  all  emotional  expres- 
sions to  three  laws,  lays  great  stress  on  the  influence  of 
heredity  in  the  formation  of  these  expressions;  and  it 
may  therefore  be  taken  as  a  monograph  in  exposition 
of  the  general  evolution-theory  which  is  commonly 
associated  with  the  name  of  the  author.  More  recently 
Professor  Wundt,  while  maintaining  the  general  theory 
of  evolution,  has  devoted  some  hostile  criticism  to 
Darwin's  special  theory  of  emotional  expressions,  and 
endeavours  to  explain  them  by  three  laws  different  from 
those  of  Darwin.^ 

Still  more  recently  a  theory  of  emotional  life  has 
attracted  attention,  which  seems  to  reverse  the  received 
relation  between  emotions  and  their  physical  concomi- 
tants, maintaining  that  these  are  causes  rather  than 
effects  of  the  emotions  whose  presence  they  indicate. 
The  theory,  indeed,  is  not  new:  it  was  suggested  long 
ago  in  Descartes's  work  on  the  Passions,  and  forms  the 
basis  of  the  elaborate  and  suggestive  analysis  of  the 
emotions  in  the  third  Part  of  Spinoza's  Ethics.     But 


*  See  Wundt's  Physiologische  Psychologic,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  418-428 ;  and 
compare  his  article  in  the  Deutsche  Rundschau  for  April,  1877.  Both 
Darwin  and  Wundt  give  a  sketch  of  the  literature  of  the  subject.  A 
more  recent  work  by  Dr.  Warner,  Physical  Expressions:  its  Modes  and 
Principles  (1885),  refers  to  movements  that  express  phases  of  organic 
life  rather  than  of  mind,  and  deals  therefore  with  questions  preliminary 
to  those  of  emotional  expression.  Notes  on  the  literature  of  this 
subject  have  generally  overlooked  Bacon's  observations  in  Sylva  Syl- 
varum.  See  Spedding,  Ellis  and  Heath's  edition  of  Bacon's  Works, 
Vol.  v.,  pp.  13-18.  From  Mr.  Ellis's  introduction  it  may  be  assumed 
that  Bacon's  observations  were  not  original.  It  appears  also  that 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  was  an  early  pioneer  in  this  Inquiry.  See  T/»e 
MonUt,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  526. 


398  PSYCHOLOGY 

after  long  neglect  it  has  been  revived  with  much  feli- 
citous illustration  by  Professor  James.  The  gist  of  the 
theory,  as  expounded  by  its  new  champion,  is,  "  that 
whatever  moods,  affections,  and  passions  I  have  are  in 
very  truth  constituted  by,  and  made  up  of,  those  bodily 
changes  which  we  ordinarily  call  their  expression  or 
consequence.''  ^  Emotion  is  therefore  identified  with 
"  the  sensation  of  its  so-called  manifestations,"  ^  with 
"  the  feelings  of  its  bodily  symptoms."  ' 

This  theory  suggests  several  critical  observations. 
(1)  Its  statement  is  still  too  indefinite  for  scientific 
exactness.  The  bodily  symptoms  or  manifestations  ac- 
companying our  emotions  are  by  no  means  rigidly  uni- 
form. In  fact,  as  has  been  noticed  already  and  will  be 
seen  more  fully  in  the  sequel,  the  same  emotion  may  be 
associated  with  different  bodily  expressions,  while  the 
same  bodily  expression  may  be  associated  with  different 
emotions.  The  theory  does  not  explain  how  different 
bodily  changes  should  give  rise  to  the  same  emotion,  or 
the  same  bodily  change  to  different  emotions.  (2)  Ap- 
parently the  theory  must  be  understood  to  mean  that, 
in  the  excitement  of  an  emotion,  some  percept,  image,  or 
concept  creates  directly  some  organic  disturbance,  and 
that  this  organic  disturbance,  by  its  effect  on  the  ner- 
vous system,  appears  in  consciousness  as  a  vague  state 
of  sensation  forming  an  emotion.  "The  bodily  changes," 
it  is  said,  "  follow  directly  the  perception  of  the  ex- 
citing fact,  and  our  feeling  of  the  same  changes  as 
they  occur  is  the  emotion."  ^  ^ow  there  is  no  physio- 
logical or  psychological  evidence  to  prove  that  a  per- 

1  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  452.  »  n>id. 

•  Ibid,  p.  451.  «  Ibid.,  p.  449. 


FEELINGS  399 

cept,  image,  or  concept  may  not  directly  disturb  the 
equilibriimi  of  brain  and  nerve.  But  such  cerebral  or 
nervous  disturbance  would  naturally  appear  in  con- 
sciousness as  a  state  of  emotional  excitement.  This, 
again,  might  naturally  be  followed  by  organic  disturb- 
ances, so  that  these  would  appear  in  consciousness,  as 
they  are  represented  in  common  thought  and  language, 
to  be  effects  or  expressions  of  emotion.  (3)  This  would 
seem  to  be  the  case  certainly  with  regard  to  some  of  the 
more  overt  bodily  concomitants  of  emotion;  and  the 
theory  in  question  does  itself  injustice  by  insisting  on 
these  being  regarded  as  stimulants  rather  than  products 
in  emotional  life.  When,  for  example,  it  is  said  that 
we  feel  sorry  because  w^e  cry,  or  merry  because  we  laugh, 
and  so  on,  it  may  be  that  the  real  purport  of  the  theory  is 
sacrificed  to  epigrammatic  point  in  its  statement;  but 
certainly  such  phenomena  as  weeping  and  laughter  are 
too  superficial  disturbances  to  be  necessarily  accompanied 
by  any  serious  or  uniform  emotional  effect.  They  are,  in 
fact,  indicative  rather  of  shallow  feeling.  Tears  may  be 
made  to  flow  freely  without  any  genuine  sorrow  either 
as  its  cause  or  as  its  effect.  Laughter  is  frequently  but 
the  sound  of  a  mere  ripple  on  the  surface  of  the  soul, 
which  leaves  its  depths  unmoved,  so  that  it  is  a  very 
ancient  experience  that  "  even  in  laughter  the  heart  is 
sorrowful.''  (4)  When,  however,  any  bodily  action 
comes  to  be  the  habitual  expression  of  an  emotion,  we 
shall  see  in  the  next  chapter  that  it  may  react  on  the 
emotion  which  it  expresses  by  exciting  it  again.  This 
is  but  what  might  be  expected  from  the  influence  of 
association.  But  this  association  is  of  incalculable  im- 
portance in  moral  culture,  as  it  offers  an  instrument 


400  PSYCHOLOGY 

for  cherishing  or  restraining  emotions   in  accordance^ 
with  moral  needs. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  we  are  still  a  good  way  from 
being  able  to  formulate  a  law  of  the  relation  between 
feelings  and  their  bodily  manifestations.  The  subject 
is  one  where  the  inquiries  of  psychology  and  physi- 
ology become  inextricably  intertwined,  and  on  a  field 
where  both  psychologist  and  physiologist  must  walk  with 
hesitating  steps.  The  inquiry  is,  indeed,  strictly  speak- 
ing, physiological  rather  than  psychological;  it  con- 
cerns the  functions  of  certain  bodily  organs  in  so  far 
as  these  are  affected  by  mental  states.  In  the  present 
condition  of  science,  therefore,  it  seems  preferable  in  a 
handbook  to  be  content  with  an  occasional  notice  of  such 
facts  as  may  seem  to  be  of  psychological  interest  in 
connection  with  the  manifestation  of  the  various  emo- 
tions. Meanwhile  it  may  be  observed  that  the  tendency 
of  emotions  to  associate  with  bodily  symptoms  is  not 
equally  strong  in  the  case  of  all;  and  in  relation  to 
this  difference  there  is  a  generalisation  of  Hegel's  which 
seems  sufiiciently  suggestive  to  deserve  mention.  He 
observes  that  our  emotions  may  be  separated  into  two 
classes  as  particular  and  universal,  the  former  referring 
to  the  special  condition  of  the  individual,  like  anger, 
shame,  etc.,  while  the  latter  includes  those  emotions 
which,  like  the  a?sthetic,  moral,  and  religious,  are  free 
from  any  tinge  of  individual  interests.  The  former 
preserve  a  close  association  with  their  bodily  expressions, 
whereas  the  latter  tend  lo  liberate  themselves  from  these 
accompaniments.  Moreover,  owing  to  the  complexity 
of  our  emotional  life,  the  universal  and  the  particular 
feelings  often  take  on  some  of  the  characteristics  of 


FEELINGS  401 

each  other;  and  the  more  any  feeling  tends  towards 
particularisation,  the  more  it  also  tends  to  embodiment 
in  some  form.^ 

It  may  be  added  that  differences  of  emotional  tem- 
perament originate  innumerable  variations  in  the  force 
of  the  tendency  to  give  expression  to  feeling.  These 
variations,  though  shading  off  into  one  another  by  in- 
finitesimal gradations,  are  roughly  indicated  in  com- 
mon language  by  the  broad  distinction  between  demon- 
strative and  undemonstrative  natures. 

§  3.  —  Classification  of  the  Feelings. 

By  their  very  nature  as  states  of  merely  subjective 
excitement,  the  feelings  cannot  be  made  objects  of  such 
distinct  conception  as  the  cognitions.  A  distinct  and 
exhaustive  classification  of  them  is  therefore  beyond 
the  reach  of  psychology  in  its  present  stage.  In  their 
lowest  form,  indeed,  as  aspects  of  our  sensations,  they 
follow  of  course  the  classification  of  these ;  and  in  their 
higher  forms  it  might  at  first  sight  appear  as  if  they 
could  be  classified  on  the  same  principle  as  the  sensa- 
tions, —  that  is,  by  reference  to  the  bodily  organs  with 
which  they  are  associated.  It  is  true  they  are  not,  like 
the  sensations,  excited  by  affections  of  the  bodily  organs ; 
but  we  have  seen  in  the  previous  section  that  they  are 
apt  to  excite  such  affections  as  their  natural  expression. 
This  principle,  however,  is  found  to  carry  us  only  a 
little  way;  for  it  is  often  impossible  to  connect  a  pecu- 
liar affection  of  an  organ  with  one  emotion  exclusively. 
A  convincing  illustration  of  this  is  afforded  by  one  of 

»  Hegel's  Encyklopddie,  §  401. 
26 


402  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  most  familiar  manifestations  of  feeling,  namely,  the 
action  of  grief  on  the  lachrymal  glands.  For  the  same 
action  is  set  up  by  the  very  different  emotion  of  anger, 
and  even  by  the  opposite  emotion  of  joy,  so  that  tears 
of  rage  and  tears  of  joy  are  almost  as  familiar  in  daily 
life  as  tears  of  sorrow.  Indeed,  almost  any  emotion  at 
a  high  pitch  of  intensity  seems  capable  of  stimulating 
the  secretion  of  tears;  while  it  is  a  still  more  remark- 
able fact  that  the  deepest  griefs  are  tearless. 

"  Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead, 
She  nor  swooned  nor  uttered  cry ; 
All  her  maidens  watching  said, 
She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

"No  other  principle  of  classifying  the  emotions  has 
been  suggested  which  is  most  obviously  natural,  and  con- 
sequently no  classification  has  been  proposed  which  has 
met  with  general  acceptance.^  Anj  classification  sug- 
gested at  present  must  therefore  be  merely  provisional; 
and  the  following  is  adopted  mainly  as  a  convenient 
order  for  describing  the  development  of  the  emotions  in 
our  mental  life.  It  starts  from  the  rudimentary  stage 
of  feeling  as  simply  the  pleasurable  or  painful  accom- 
paniment of  sensation.  It  then  proceeds  on  the  assump- 
tion that  the  more  complex  phenomena  of  our  emotional 
life,  like  those  of  our  intellectual  life,  are  developed  by 
the  two  universal  processes  of  mental  action,  association 

^  In  Professor  Bain's  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  Appendix  B,  the 
student  will  find  a  brief  outline  of  some  of  the  modern  classifications, 
with  which  his  own  may  be  compared.  The  tendency  of  recent  psy- 
chology is  to  regard  the  task  of  classifying  the  emotions  as  intrinsically 
hopeless.  See  James's  Principles,  Vol.  II.,  p.  454  ;  Jodl's  Lehrhuch, 
pp.  378-380.  Compare  Spinoza's  Ethics,  III.,  56.  "  Any  classification 
of  the  emotions,"  says  James,  "  if  it  only  serves  some  purpose,  is  seen 
to  be  as  true  and  as  '  natural '  as  any  other." 


FEELINGS  403 

and  comparison.  As  the  former  is  the  more  primitive 
process,  it  seems  natural  to  notice  first  those  emotions 
which  are  due  mainly  to  association,  and  then  to  take 
up  those  in  which  the  higher  process  of  comparison  is 
the  most  prominent  factor.  There  are  other  emotions 
which  presuppose  a  certain  development  of  intellectual 
and  moral  life,  as  they  arise  in  connection  with  our  cog- 
nitions and  volitions.  These  two  classes  of  emotions, 
which  may  appropriately  be  styled  intellectual  and 
moral,  will  naturally  come  last  in  our  treatment. 


CHAPTER   I. 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE. 


HERE  feelings  are  considered  as  merely  certain 
aspects  of  the  elementary  mental  states,  out  of 
which  the  emotional  life  proper  is  developed.^  A  super- 
ficial observation  shows  that,  as  sources  of  pleasure  and 
pain,  the  rank  of  sensations  is  the  reverse  of  that  which 
they  take  as  sources  of  knowledge.  The  more  prominent 
in  consciousness  the  pleasantness  or  painfulness  of  a 
sensation,  the  less  is  it  adapted  for  that  calm  contempla- 
tion of  its  intrinsic  qualities  by  which  our  knowledge 
is  built  up.  Consequently  the  general  sensations,  in 
contrast  with  the  special,  are,  as  a  rule,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  muscular,  associated  in  consciousness  almost 
exclusively  with  the  pleasure  or  pain  they  afford,  and 
but  slightly,  if  at  all,  with  any  information  they  com- 
municate. The  sensations  arising  from  the  healthy  or 
unhealthy  action  of  the  nerves,  of  the  digestive  and  other 
organs,  commonly  intrude  themselves  into  consciousness 
only  as  states  of  pleasure  or  pain.  Occasionally,  in- 
deed, a  mind  of  scientific  habits  or  of  practical  prudence 
may,  by  observation  and  reasoning,  arrive  at  a  knowl- 
edge of  important  facts  associated  with  such  sensations ; 

^  Perez,  In  L'Education  Morale  dds  le  Berceau  (Part  II.),  gives  an 
elaborate  analysis  of  the  senses  with  a  view  to  their  moral  and 
emotional  effects. 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  405 

but  for  the  ordinary  mind  they  remain  states  of  a  vague 
uninterpreted  delight  or  uneasiness.  The  result  is,  that 
feeling  in  such  cases  remains  indissolubly  attached  to 
the  sensation  in  which  it  originates.  Feelings  of  this 
primitive  character  may  be  of  incalculable  importance 
as  contributing  to  the  comfort  and  discomfort  of  our 
daily  existence,  which  are  of  course  essentially  depend- 
ent on  our  animal  condition.  But  as  the  sensations 
arising  from  the  functions  of  animal  life  are  incapable 
of  being  distinctly  observed  and  compared,  they  do  not 
enter  readily  into  association  with  other  sensations  to 
form  those  more  complex  states  of  feeling  which  com- 
pose our  emotional  life. 

Still,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  our  emotional  states 
are  altogether  dissociated  from  these  vague  general  sen- 
sations. Occasionally  we  find  the  pleasantness  or  un- 
pleasantness characteristic  of  these  sensations  applied 
to  the  description  of  feelings  which  have  no  apparent 
connection  with  sense.  The  heart  is  "  broken "  or 
"  gnawed  "  with  care,  the  feelings  are  ''  wounded,"  the 
spirit  is  "  crushed."  Often  we  are  ^^  cut  "  to  the  heart, 
we  "  burn  "  with  impatience  and  other  passions,  we  are 
"  chilled  "  by  a  friend's  unexpected  manners.  A  certain 
"  atmosphere  of  thought "  is  spoken  of  as  "  stifling," 
while  we  "  breathe  a  freer  air  "  when  we  adopt  a  differ- 
ent set  of  convictions.  Even  the  pleasures  and  pains 
which  are  apt  to  be  thought  of  as  the  most  grossly  animal 
of  all  —  the  sensations  of  the  alimentary  canal  —  may 
be  transfigured  in  this  way,  as  is  shown  in  the  secondary 
application  of  such  terms  as  relish,  zest,  gusto,  on  the 
one  hand,  as  nauseating  and  disgusting  on  the  other. 
These  feelings  have,  in  fact,  been  exalted  into  a  sort 


406  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  sacredness  in  the  memorable  blessing  of  tbose  wbo 
^*  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness.'^ 

It  is  not  always  easy  to  tell  how  this  transference  of 
the  names  of  sensations  is  brought  about.  In  some 
cases  it  seems  to  arise  from  a  resemblance  of  some  sort 
between  the  sensation  and  the  feelings  designated  by 
its  name.  In  other  cases,  however,  its  source  is  to  be 
found  in  facts  connected  with  the  expression  of  the 
emotions.  It  was  sho^vn  in  the  immediately  preceding 
Introduction,  that  emotions  are  associated  in  some  way 
with  various  bodily  organs,  so  that  the  affection  or 
movement  of  these  forms  a  more  or  less  distinct  expres- 
sion of  the  associated  emotions.  This  association, 
however  originated,  seems  to  react  on  the  emotions; 
and  thus  an  organic  affection  or  movement  comes  to  be 
suggestive  of  the  emotion  which  it  primarily  expressed. 
For  this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  dyspepsia,  which  may 
be  induced  by  various  unpleasant  passions,  especially  by 
those  of  a  malevolent  nature,  tends  to  darken  the  mental 
life  by  passions  of  the  same  order;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  eupepsia,  which  is  promoted  by  a  cheerful  and 
benevolent  disposition,  returns  this  favourable  influence 
by  making  the  culture  of  such  a  disposition  more  natural. 
A  careful  observer  may  easily  convince  himself,  by  ex- 
periment, that  those  movements  of  the  facial  muscles 
which  are  among  the  most  familiar  manifestations  of 
feelings  —  smiles,  frowns,  sneers  —  can  be  made  to  ex- 
cite in  a  vacant  mind  the  emotions  which  they  commonly 
express;  and  it  is  a  significant  confirmation  of  this, 
that,  in  hypnotic  states  in  w^hich  the  consciousness  is 
dominated  by  purely  natural  associations,  it  is  common 
for  an  operator  to  introduce  into  his  subject's  mind  any 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  407 

feelings  or  ideas  he  wishes  by  setting  the  features  or 
limbs  to  some  adjustment  usually  expressive  of  an 
emotion. 

There  is  another  fact  deserving  of  notice  in  this  con- 
nection. Pleasure  and  pain,  by  whatever  cause  excited, 
tend  to  combine  with  their  natural  emotional  associates ; 
and  consequently  any  agreeable  sensation  is  favourable 
to  joy,  love,  hope,  and  aesthetic  delight,  whereas  any 
disagreeable  sensation  is  apt  to  excite  melancholy,  ill- 
temper,  fear,  despair. 

But  in  all  such  cases  it  still  remains  a  distinctive 
characteristic  of  the  general  sensations  as  a  class,  that 
they  are  not  so  adapted  for  entering  into  the  vast  com- 
binations of  feeling  which  form  the  most  interesting 
as  well  as  the  most  important  feature  of  our  emotional 
life.  Such  combinations  have  their  chief  source  in  the 
definitely  comparable  sensations  of  special  sense,  and 
especially  of  hearing  and  sight.  In  signalising  these 
two  senses  it  is  meant  that  they  are  better  adapted  than 
any  of  the  others  for  developing  the  more  complicated 
emotions  as  well  as  the  more  complicated  cognitions; 
and  this  superior  adaptation  may  be  made  evident  by  a 
comparison  of  the  different  senses  in  respect  of  their 
emotional  power. 

I.  Of  the  two  less  intellectual  senses,  taste  and  smell, 
almost  enough  has  been  of  necessity  said  in  analysing 
the  cognitions  which  they  go  to  form.  The  sensations 
of  taste,  though  more  distinctly  marked  than  those  of 
smell  in  our  ordinary  consciousness,  were  showTi  to  be 
but  slightly  endowed  with  associ ability  or  comparabil- 
ity, and  therefore  to  be  incapable  of  distinct  representa- 
tion.    Accordingly  it  was  observed  that   they   do  not 


408  PSYCHOLOGY 

readily  enter  into  those  ideal  combinations  which  are 
equally  essential  to  emotional  and  intellectual  develop- 
ment. Moreover,  the  sensations  of  taste  are  too  closely 
bound  up  with  the  functions  necessary  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  life  to  admit  of  free  indulgence  in  their  pleasant- 
ness ;  and  this  also,  as  we  shall  find,  excludes  them  from 
aesthetic  uses.  Burke,  indeed,  thinks  that  the  pains  — 
we  might  say,  the  horrors  —  of  taste  may  enter  into  our 
feelings  of  the  sublime ;  but  the  only  instance  he  gives  is 
the  literary  use  of  the  phrases,  ^'  a  cup  of  bitterness," 
"  to  drain  the  bitter  cup  of  fortune,''  "  the  bitter  apples 
of  Sodom."  ^  These  expressions,  however,  are  merely 
examples  of  what  was  noticed  a  few  pages  before,  — 
the  transference  of  the  names  of  sensations  to  describe 
feelings  which  have  no  connection  with  sense;  and  it 
may  be  questioned  whether  the  use  of  these  expressions 
ever  approaches  the  character  of  sublimity. 

II.  The  sense  of  smell,  as  already  observed,  is  in  man 
mainly  emotional.  It  is  true  that  in  many  species  of  the 
lower  animals  its  organ  is  more  developed  and  its  uses  are 
more  numerous.  It  serves  to  attract  the  sexes,  as  well  as 
parents  and  young,  to  one  another;  it  forms  a  guide 
in  the  discovery  of  food,  in  evading  more  powerful 
enemies,  and  in  tracking  prey.  \\Tiether  these  facts 
are  causally  connected  with  the  emotional  character  of 
odours  in  man,  is  still  a  matter  of  conjecture.  It  is  no 
mere  conjecture,  however,  that  in  each  individual  these 

^  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful, 
Part  II.,  §  21.  James  (Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  469) 
thinks  that  "  even  the  feelings  of  the  lower  senses  may  have  a  second- 
ary escort,  due  to  the  arousing  of  associational  trains  which  reverber- 
ate." He  illustrates  by  two  examples  from  taste.  But  both,  especially 
that  from  Ingersoll,  look  like  plays  of  fancy  suggested  by  the  idea  of 
the  object  tasted,  not  by  the  sensation  of  taste  itself. 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  409 

sensations  afford  many  of  the  familiar  pleasures  of  life. 
Not  only  the  interested  enjoyments  of  the  table,  but  all 
the  purer  delights  of  forest  and  garden,  of  rural  life  in 
general,  derive  a  large  element  from  the  pleasures  of 
smell.  This  naturally  leads  us  away  from  the  simple 
sensations  of  odour  to  the  emotional  associations  which 
they  form ;  but  although  the  subject  belongs  properly  to 
the  next  chapter,  it  is  not  altogether  out  of  place  to 
notice  the  comparative  readiness  with  which  odours 
enter  into  such  associations.  It  has  long  been  observed, 
for  example,  that  odours  have  an  influence  on  the  sexual 
feelings;  and  the  use  of  incense  in  religious  service 
points  to  some  connection  with  the  feelings  of  devotion. 
It  is  true  that  these  emotional  influences  of  smell  are 
more  prominent  among  Southern  people ;  and  it  may  be 
inferred  that  the  increased  and  uninterrupted  develop- 
ment of  odours  under  a  warmer  sun  and  a  perpetual 
summer  is  paralleled  by  an  increased  development  of 
sensibility  to  their  effects.-^ 

III.  Touch  is  commonly  conceived  as  more  destitute 
of  emotional  character  than  any  of  the  special  senses. 
It  is  therefore  a  remarkable  fact,  that  the  term  feeling, 
which  is  the  most  general  name  for  the  phenomena  of 
pleasures  and  pains,  has  been  borrowed  from  the  sense  of 
touch.  As  already  hinted  in  treating  of  our  tactile  per- 
ceptions, the  emotional  side  of  this  sense  is  probably 
overlooked  from  the  fact  that  its  contributions  to  our 
mental  life  have  become  largely  absorbed  in  those  of 
sight.  Yet  a  more  careful  examination  soon  shows  that 
the  emotional  elements  of  touch  are  neither  few  nor 

*  Some  interestinfr  observations  on  this  point  will  be  found  in  a 
popular,  but  suggestive,  little  book  by  Dr.  George  Wilson,  The  Five 
Oateicaj/s  of  Knowledge,  pp.  62-85. 


410  PSYCHOLOGY 

unimportant ;  and  that  they  obtrude  themselves  in  our 
daily  consciousness  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  a  strong 
emotional  impression  is  very  commonly  described  by 
saying  that  we  feel  touched,  while  a  strong  emotional 
stimulant  is  spoken  of  as  touching,  and  a  person  of  irri- 
table temperament  is  familiarly  described  as  touchy. 
The  effect  of  touches  upon  our  feelings  varies  according 
to  the  part  of  the  skin  affected,  as  well  as  the  quality  of 
the  sensation  excited. 

1.  The  emotional  susceptibility  of  different  parts  of 
the  skin  evidently  does  not  show  a  close  parallel  to  their 
intellectual  discriminativeness.  The  reason  of  this  I  take 
to  be,  not  that  the  parts  of  great  discriminative  power 
are  not  also  extremely  sensitive  to  the  pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness  of  touches,  but  that  the  two  modes  of 
mental  activity,  cognition  and  emotion,  are  essentially 
incompatible.  Accordingly  where,  as  in  the  hand,  con- 
sciousness is  usually  engrossed  with  the  information 
given,  the  emotional  uses  of  the  organ  are  reduced  to  a 
minimum.  Still,  the  hand  affords  many  tender  delights 
as  well  as  many  repulsive  unpleasantnesses  of  touch.  It 
is  the  grasp  of  the  hand  that  is  taken  over  most  of  the 
civilised  world  as  the  appropriate  expression  of  common 
kindly  feelings.  The  tongue,  though  seldom  used  by  man 
for  discriminating  anything  but  articles  of  food,  and 
though  the  most  acute  part  of  the  whole  organism,  is  yet 
scarcely  ever  applied  to  emotional  uses.  But  dogs,  cows, 
and  other  animals  lick  the  objects  of  their  affection.  It 
is  in  parts  not  commonly  employed  for  purposes  of  dis- 
crimination that  the  highest  emotional  susceptibility  is 
realised.     The  lip  and  cheek,^  and  even  parts  of  lower 

^  Some  African  tribes  rub  noses  in  expression  of  friendly  feeling. 


FEELINGS    OF    SEXSE  411 

intellectual  rank,  are  commonly  associated  with  the  most 
delicious  enjoyments  of  touch. 

2.  Among  the  various  kinds  of  tactual  sensation,  that 
which  yields  the  purest  and  most  independent  pleasure 
is  smoothness.  Softness  is  also  a  plentiful  source  of 
agreeable  sensations;  but  it  is  more  dependent  on  con- 
comitant feelings,  and  accordingly  it  is  more  apt  to  be 
supplanted  by  such  associations  as  a  rough  or  clammy 
surface.  On  the  other  hand,  even  the  hardest  substances, 
when  highly  polished,  are  capable  of  yielding  an  in- 
dependent delight  in  their  smoothness.  Even  the  pleas- 
ure that  we  take  in  the  sight  of  polished  surfaces  is  in  a 
large  measure  a  revival  by  suggestion  of  the  tactile  feel- 
ing which  such  surfaces  excite.  The  additional  gratifica- 
tion, also,  which  we  derive  from  gloss  or  lustre,  though 
partly  visual,  is  likewise  partly  due  to  its  manifest 
suggestion  of  smoothness.^ 

But  the  greatest  volume  of  enjoyment  that  we  owe  to 
touch  is  found  in  the  combination  of  its  two  most 
emotional  sensations,  smoothness  and  softness.  The 
delicate  petals  of  our  common  flowers,  the  downy  feath- 
ers of  birds,  the  sleek  and  glossy  fur  of  many  animals, 
are  objects  over  which  the  fingers  play  with  perpetual 
delight ;  while  the  use  of  feathers  and  furs  for  clothing, 
as  well  as  the  imitation  of  their  qualities  in  cloths  of 
velvety  texture,  is  evidently  suggested  by  the  agreo- 
ableness  in  the  touch  of  smooth  and  soft  bodies.  But  it 
is  the  human  skin,  especially  in  the  infant  and  the  female 
sex,   that   realises   most   completely   the   conditions   of 

*  The  reader  of  Burke's  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful  may  recall  the  extravagant  importance  which 
he  attaches  to  smoothness  among  the  conditions  of  beauty.  See 
especially  III.,  §  14,  and  IV.,  §§  20-25. 


412  PSYCHOLOGY 

delight  in  tactual  sensation ;  and  the  tenderness  of  such 
delight  has  furnished  to  thought  and  language  a  descrip- 
tion characteristic  of  all  kindly  emotions. 

Among  the  pains  of  this  sense  hardness  and  roughness 
are  of  course  the  most  prominent;  and  their  comhina- 
tion,  as  in  unwrought  stone  or  unpolished  iron,  is  as 
repulsive  as  the  union  of  their  opposites  is  attractive. 
The  terms  hard  and  rough  are  therefore  of  very  exten- 
sive application  to  objects  that  excite  emotions  of  a 
disagreeable  nature.  But  it  is  important  also  to  observe 
that  smoothness  and  softness,  especially  the  latter,  are 
themselves  capable  of  an  unpleasant  excess.  Perhaps 
the  unpleasantness  in  such  cases  is  due  to  defective 
stimulation ;  and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  the  terms 
smooth  and  soft  are  often  figuratively  applied  to  objects 
of  a  mean  and  contemptible  character.  But  whatever 
may  be  the  cause  of  this  unpleasantness,  the  pain  of 
hard  and  rough  impressions  is  undoubtedly  due  to 
excessive  stimulation.  Hardness  evidently  is  akin  to 
those  violent  pressures  which  crush  and  bruise  the 
tissues.  On  the  other  hand,  roughness  resembles 
various  sensations  of  an  intermittent  character,  which 
were  referred  to  before  when  explaining  the  nature  of 
discord.  In  such  sensations  it  seems  as  if  the  inter- 
mission gave  time  for  the  organ  to  recuperate,  and  thus 
to  become  capable  of  a  wasteful  degree  of  activity, 
which  would  be  impossible  under  the  numbing  influence 
of  a  continuous  stimulation.  In  this  way  we  may 
explain  the  unpleasant  effect  produced  by  a  discordant 
clash  of  sonorous  vibrations  or  by  a  flickering  light. 
Thus  also  it  would  appear  that,  instead  of  the  continuous 
impression  made  by  a  smooth  body,  a  rough  surface, 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  413 

being  formed  of  projections  separated  by  raimitc  inter- 
vals, owes  its  unpleasantness  to  the  violent  tactual  excite- 
ment caused  by  a  series  of  intermittent  shocks.^ 

The  sensation  of  weight  is  mainly  muscular,  but  may 
be  noticed  here,  as  it  is  also  to  a  slight  extent  tactual. 
The  only  definite  cnjo^anent  which  such  sensation 
yields  is  that  arising  from  a  weight  light  enough  to  be 
borne  with  moderate  exertion,  so  that  light  comes  to  be 
descriptive  of  all  performances  that  are  made  pleasant 
by  being  easy.  On  the  other  hand,  the  extreme  easiness 
of  any  action  is  unsatisfying ;  and  consequently  light  is 
often  applied  to  objects  of  contemptible  triviality.  But 
the  decided  form  of  uneasiness  connected  with  this  class 
of  sensations  is  that  of  excessive  weight;  and  therefore 
heavy  is  a  term  of  wide  use  to  describe  the  various 
feelings  arising  from  the  diflficulties  of  life,  by  which  its 
energies  are  oppressed. 

It  only  remains  to  add  that,  as  touch  is  endowed  in  an 
eminent  degree  with  distinct  representability,  its  pleas- 
ures and  pains  enter  readily  into  those  ideal  combina- 
tions which  form  the  more  complex  emotions.  Thus 
'^  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand,"  and  "  remembered 
kisses  after  death,"  are  referred  to  in  well-known  poems 
of  Tennyson's  as  revivable  with  distinctness  and  sug- 
gestive with  power  enough  to  stir  the  deepest  movements 
of  our  emotional  nature. 

IV.  Hearing  is  a  sense  of  the  very  highest  emotional 
value.  Superior  to  touch  in  intellectual  adaptation,  it  is 
superior  also  in  capacity  for  pleasure  and  pain.     In  this 

'  It  is  worth  observing,  however,  that  an  extremely  rouRh  surface 
actually  lacerates  the  skin,  as  any  rough  surface  will  do  if  rubbed  hard. 
It  is  therefore  a  question  whether  in  all  cases  the  pain  of  roughness  is 
not  akin  to,  and  perhaps  suggestive  of,  that  of  laceration. 


414  PSYCHOLOGY 

capacity  it  is  superior  to  sight  as  well,  so  that,  although 
it  does  not  ally  itself  so  definitely  with  specific  emotions, 
yet  it  originates  some  which  stir  our  nature  more  pro- 
foundly. This  is  most  familiarly  illustrated  in  the 
influence  of  music.  Here,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  the 
influence  of  this  art  is  considered,  not  in  all  its  manifold 
character,  but  merely  at  its  lowest  —  its  sensuous  stage. 
There  is  considerable  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the 
nature  and  origin  of  the  emotional  effects  produced  by 
music ;  but  all  theories  on  the  question  must  recognise  a 
certain  basis  in  organic  sensibility  on  which  higher  effects 
are  built  up.  That  sensibility  implies,  as  has  been  ex- 
plained in  earlier  pages,  a  capacity  for  agreeable  and 
disagreeable  impressions,  both  from  single  tones  and 
from  the  melodic  and  harmonic  relations  of  different 
tones. 

Single  tones  depend  for  their  pleasant  or  unpleasant 
character  on  their  intensity,  their  pitch,  or  their  quality. 
Extremely  loud  or  extremely  shrill  sounds  are  painful ; 
and  the  pain  seems  obviously  due  to  the  violence  of  the 
organic  action  which  they  excite.  Harsh  qualities  of 
tone  have  been  already  traced  to  the  same  cause  as 
discords,  —  the  inharmonious  interference  of  the  over- 
tones with  the  fundamental  tone.^  Now  the  unpleasant- 
ness of  discord  has  just  been  explained  as,  like  rough- 
ness caused  by  a  series  of  intermittent  stimulations, 
which  allow  the  organ  to  recover  between  each,  and  thus 
call  forth  a  wasteful  expenditure  of  energy.^     On  the 

»  See  Book  II.,  Part  I.,  Chap.  I.,  §  4  (B),  11. 

'  The  depth  of  feeling  which  may  be  stirred  by  the  mere  organic 
effect  of  discord  is  strikingly  displayed  by  the  experience  of  hypnotic 
patients.  "  A  discord,  such  as  two  semi-tones  sounded  at  the  same 
time,  however  soft,  will  cause  a  sensitive  patient  to  shudder  and  recede 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  415 

other  hand,  the  unsatisfactory  character  of  the  weak 
tones,  which  from  the  absence  of  overtones  possess  no 
decided  quality,  is  perhaps  due  to  defective  stimulation. 

The  sensibility  to  auditory  enjoyment,  however,  in  its 
refined  forms  is  a  later  growth  of  evolution  in  the  indi- 
vidual as  well  as  in  the  race.  Not  to  speak  of  the 
innumerable  harsh  cries  of  the  lower  animals,  or  the 
deafening  noises  which  monkeys  delight  to  make  by 
beating  sticks  as  well  as  by  screeching,  it  is  evident  that 
in  early  life,  when  the  auditory  sensibility  is  still  un- 
developed, and  the  general  nervous  organisation  robust, 
the  ear  can  not  only  endure,  but  enjoy,  violent  excite- 
ments,— loud  noises  that  irritate,  if  they  do  not  stun,  an 
adult  ear,  or  wild  tones  that  pay  little  or  no  regard  to 
musical  law.  The  coarse  sensibility  of  the  savage  enables 
him  also  to  find  delight  in  a  music  which  is  distinguished 
mainly  by  its  overpowering  stimulation  of  the  sense.  It 
may  be  observed,  moreover,  that,  as  the  limit  of  healthy 
excitement  varies  even  in  the  individual  for  hearing  as 
well  as  for  other  senses,  men  of  general  refinement,  in 
hours  of  boisterous  mirth,  relapse  not  unnaturally  into 
the  early  rude  taste  for  uproarious  song  and  clamour. 

There  is,  however,  a  peculiar  richness  in  the  emotional 
effects  of  music,  which  extend  over  a  vastly  wider  area 
than  the  mere  sensibility  to  sound.  It  is,  in  fact, 
practically  impossible  to  set  a  limit  to  the  feelings  which 
may  be  stirred  by  this  art ;  and  no  psychological  theory 
could  be  accepted  as  a  complete  account  of  the  nature 
and  origin  of  the  emotional  influence  of  music,  which 
restricted  that  influence  to  one  set  of  emotions,  such  as 

when  hypnotised,  although  ignorant  of  music,  and  not  at  all  disagree- 
ably affected  by  such  discord  when  awake"  (Ncurypnology,  or  ihQ 
Rationale  of  Ncrvotta  Sleep,  by  James  Braid,  p.  62,  note), 


416  PSYCHOLOGY 

sexual  feeling,  or  derived  it  exclusively  from  one  class  of 
sounds,  like  tliose  of  speech.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  that 
tones  readily  associate  with  all  the  leading  emotions  of 
the  human  soul,  and  that  therefore  the  sensuous  gratifi- 
cations of  tone  become  at  once  intermingled  with  some  of 
the  associated  emotions,  though  which  of  these  shall  be 
stirred  must  be  determined  by  the  various  circumstances 
of  the  individual  and  of  the  moment.  In  Collins's  fine 
Ode  to  the  Passions  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  the  pas- 
sions described,  though  of  the  most  conflicting  order,  are 
all  pictured  as  equally  resorting  to  music  for  their  ap- 
propriate stimulus  and  their  appropriate  expression. 

This  ready  associability  of  sound  seems  to  have  a  cer- 
tain organic  foundation  in  the  diffused  action  of  sonorous 
vibrations.  For  being  a  comparatively  coarse  form  of 
vibrations,  they  affect  not  only  the  special  sensibility  of 
the  ear,  but  the  general  sensibility  of  the  whole  organ- 
ism in  a  way  in  which  the  finer  ethereal  vibrations  can- 
not. Peculiarly  "  piercing  "  tones  certainly  do  shoot  a 
thrill  through  every  nerve,  but  especially  down  the  spine, 
making  even  the  "  flesh  creep  "  and  the  "  blood  curdle  " 
(interrupting  the  circulation?).  The  shiver  caused  by 
"  grating  "  sounds  is  also  a  familiar  experience.  These 
widely  diffused  effects  must  bring  sensations  of  tone  into 
association  with  almost  every  kind  of  organic  action 
which  serves  as  a  concomitant  of  emotion. 

V.  The  sensations  of  light  and  colour  owe  their  pre- 
eminent intellectual  value  to  their  comparative  neutral- 
ity in  respect  of  pleasure  and  pain.  The  organic  feeling 
is  here  so  slight  that  in  mature  life,  at  least  among  edu- 
cated minds,  it  is  generally  absorbed  in  the  predominant 
perceptions,  with  their  intellectual  and  emotional  accom- 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  417 

paniments.  Still,  the  emotional  side  of  visual  sensation 
is  not  wholly  obscured ;  and  among  children,  as  well  as 
the  untutored  and  uncivilised,  who  exercise  less  control 
over  their  feelings,  the  sensuous  excitement  of  light  and 
colour  is  frequently  to  be  observed. 

1.  The  sensibility  to  visual  pleasure  commences  with 
the  earliest  form  of  visual  sensation.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  fact  that  for  months  before  the  child  shows 
any  appreciation  of  colours,  he  finds  pleasure  in  pure 
light ;  ^  and  this  remains  throughout  life  the  simplest 
enjoyment  of  vision.  This  enjoyment,  however,  is  of 
two  kinds. 

(a)  When  pure  light  is  spread  over  a  large  expanse, 
as  in  a  luminous  atmosphere  with  the  sun  away  from 
the  eyes,  or  even  when  it  is  softened,  as  by  a  lampshade, 
the  sensation  excited  belongs  to  the  gentle  and  soothing 
class,  and  consequently  light  has  always  been  regarded 
as  itself  one  of  the  purest  of  organic  gratifications,  and 
as  affording  a  type  of  the  purest  gratifications  of  life  in 
general.  "  Truly,"  says  an  old  Hebrew,  "  the  light  is 
sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the  eyes  to  behold 
the  sun."  ^  The  note  is  one  that  is  echoed  by  many  a 
tone  of  ancient  literature.  So  the  light  of  life  is  often 
used  as  a  symbol  of  all  that  makes  life  worth  living; 
while  terms,  like  bright  and  serene,  expressive  of  clear 
light,  are  found  appropriately  descriptive  of  general 
happiness,  whereas  terms  that  express  the  absence  of 
light,  such  as  shadow  or  gloom,  are  extended  naturally  to 
any  joyless  condition  of  mind. 

(b)  But  light  when  concentrated  in  brilliant  centres 

*  Preyer,  Die  Secle  des  Kindcs.  pp.  6-17. 

'  Eccles.    xi.    7.      The   commentators   cite   in    illustration    Euripides, 

IptUg.  in  AuliSj  vs.  1218  :    ii&v  yap  t6  <i>Ci<:  ^AeirciK. 

27 


418  PSYCHOLOGY 

is  a  powerful  stimulant.  The  sensation  produced  is 
then  of  an  exciting  character;  and  its  enjoyment  indi- 
cates, therefore,  a  coarser  sensibility.  The  pleasure  that 
we  find  in  bonfires  and  pyrotechnic  displays  does  not 
imply  any  refinement  of  sense. 

2.  It  is  also  a  coarser  sensibility  that  draws  its 
pleasures  from  the  colours  at  the  red  end  of  the 
spectrum.  Experiments  show  that  these  are  the  ear- 
liest to  be  recognised  by  the  child ;  ^  and  they  remain 
throughout  life  the  most  exciting  forms  of  colour- 
sensation.  The  ecstasy  of  children  and  savages  at  the 
sight  of  brilliant  reds  is  an  evidence  of  the  strong  effect 
which  these  produce.  A  curious  illustration  of  this 
effect  is  sometimes  found  in  states  of  mental  disease 
when  the  consciousness  falls  away  from  rational  control 
into  the  sway  of  mere  natural  sensation.  Thus,  the 
dancers  of  St.  John  and  St.  Vitus  in  Germany  were 
infuriated,  while  the  Tarantati  of  Italy  were  thrown 
into  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  by  red  colours.^  This  effect  is 
further  illustrated  by  the  experience  of  some  of  the 
patients  cured  of  congenital  blindness,  while  their  visual 
sensations  still  retained  the  impressiveness  of  novelty. 
Cheselden's  patient  is  said  to  have  thought  scarlet  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  colours,  and  of  others  those  pleased 
him  most  which  were  "  gay,"  —  an  expression  I  take 
to  mean  those  in  which  red  is  the  predominant  tint.  On 
the  other  hand,  black  gave  him  uneasiness,  and  a  negro 
at  first  excited  feelings  of  horror.  It  is  perhaps  indica- 
tive of  some  individual,  or  at  least  feminine,  character- 
istic, that  Wardrope's  patient  thought  the  blue  sky  the 

1  Preyer,  pp.  6-17. 

2  Hecker's  Epidemics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Part  II.,  pp.  17,  19,  note, 
29.  41. 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  419 

prettiest  tiling  she  had  ever  seen;  but,  when  tried  with 
other  colours,  she  liked  yellow  best,  then  pink.  Appar- 
ently dark  objects  looked  up^ly  to  her  as  they  did  to 
Cheselden's  patient.^  The  more  violent  emotions  there- 
fore seem  naturally  to  associate  with  red  colours,  while 
the  colours  at  the  other  end  of  the  spectrum  have  an 
affinity  rather  with  the  milder  emotions.  The  former  are 
sometimes  spoken  of  as  warm,  the  latter  as  cool^ 

3.  While   light,    pure   or   coloured,    is   the   peculiar 
sensation  of   sight,   the  eye  seems   adapted  to   receive 
pleasurable   impressions  from  other  visual  phenomena 
as  well.     Form,  indeed,  might  be  thought  to  require  an 
intellectual  appreciation  for  its  enjoyment;   but  as  har- 
mony of  tones  and  probably  also  harmony  of  colours 
answer  to  some  adaptation  in  the  organs  of  hearing  and 
sight,   form  also  seems  to  be  the  source   of  a  purely 
organic  pleasure,  even  though  the  gratification  it  affords 
be  partly  derived  from  the  intellectual  activity  which  it 
calls  forth.     In  consequence  of  the  various  factors  of 
visual  gratification  being  thus  usually  intermingled,  it  is 
difficult  to  obtain  direct  evidence  of  the  above  statement; 
but  it  seems  to  be  certified  by  the  fact  that  Cheselden's 
patient  received  a  peculiar  pleasure  from  smooth  and 
regular  bodies  at  a  time  when  he  had  not  yet  learnt  to 
distinguish  shapes  by  sight,  and  could  not  tell  what  it 

1  Philosophical  Transactions,  1826,  pp.  534-535. 

»  What  makes  the  reds  more  exciting  than  other  colours  is  not 
certain  •  but  it  has  been  conjectured  that  the  less  frequent  occurrence 
of  the  former  in  nature  allows  the  sensibility  of  the  eye  for  them  loniror 
periods  of  repose,  and  consequently  a  higher  degree  of  stimulation  with- 
out being  exhausted.  It  has  also  been  suggeste<l  that,  owing  to  the 
position  of  the  retinal  vessels,  the  light  received  by  the  eye  must  always 
be  coloured  blood-red.  and  that  therefore  greens  give  a  restful  relief, 
while  reds  give  an  additional  intensity,  to  the  normal  stimulation  of  the 
eye  (Dr  A  E  Wright  in  the  Journal  of  Anat.  and  Fhys.  for  Jan..  IH.)-. 
p  194)      The  problem  Is  obviously  still  in  the  region  of  mere  hypothesis. 


420  PSYCHOLOGY 

was  in  bodies  that  made  them  pleasing.^  The  pleasure 
which  the  eye  takes  in  well-shaped  bodies  may  indeed 
not  be,  in  the  most  restricted  sense,  a  visual  sensation; 
it  may  be  due  rather  to  the  easy  muscular  sweep  of  the 
eye  while  surveying  such  objects  in  contrast  with  the 
broken,  and  therefore  more  violent,  effort  of  grasping 
an  angular  or  irregular  form.  For  the  muscles,  being 
mostly  levers  resting  on  a  fulcrum  at  one  end,  describe 
most  easily  a  curved  line  with  the  other,  so  that  any 
line  with  abrupt  angles  is  the  result  of  an  uneasy  strain 
until  it  becomes  easy  by  discipline.  But  the  pleasure 
we  take  in  the  form  of  visible  bodies,  even  if  it  belongs 
to  the  muscular  sensations,  is  noticed  here  for  con- 
venience, as  it  affords  an  opportunity  of  pointing  out 
how  insensibly  the  organic  pleasures  of  sight  pass  over 
into  that  larger  store  of  mingled  sensuous  and  intel- 
lectual enjoyments  of  which  the  visible  world  is  the 
source.  The  very  simplest  perceptions  of  sight  cannot 
but  open  up  this  world  of  joy  to  some  extent.  It  is  true 
that  to  most  minds  the  visible  world  has  become  so  stale 
that  its  perennial  delightfulness  is  seldom  felt;  but 
there  are  few  who  are  not  incited  at  times  to  a  fresh 
relish  of  its  pleasures,  while  there  are  many  who  con- 
tinue to  find  in  them  the  purest  enjoyment  of  life.  Most 
men  have  probably  overcome  the  numbing  effect  of  the 
world's  staleness  at  times,  as  when,  after  the  organism 
has  had  its  sensibility  quickened  by  a  night's  repose, 
they  have  opened  their  eyes  to  the  splendours  of  the 
dawn;     and  the  memory  of  such   an  experience   may 

^  The  exact  words  of  the  report  are :  "  He  thought  no  object  so 
a.^reeable  as  those  which  are  smooth  and  regular,  though  he  could  form 
no  judgment  of  their  shape,  nor  guess  what  it  was  in  any  object  that 
was  pleasing." 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  421 

enable  us  to  realise -the  keenness  of  the  delight  with 
which  the  visible  world  discloses  itself  to  the  view  for 
the  first  time.     It  is  said  of  Cheselden's  patient,  that, 
''  before  he  was  couched,  he  expected  little  advantage 
from  seeing,  worth  undergoing  an  operation  for,  except 
reading  and  writing;    for  he  said,  he  thought  he  could 
have  no  more  pleasure  in  walking  abroad  than  he  had  in 
the  garden,  which  he  could  do  very  safely  and  readily." 
But  after  his  sight  was  restored,  "  he  said,  every  new 
object  was  a  new  delight,  and  the  pleasure  was  so  great 
that  he  wanted  ways  to  express  it ;   but  his  gratitude  to 
his  operator  he  could  not  conceal,  never  seeing  him  for 
some  time  without  tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes  and  other 
marks  of  affection :   and  if  he  did  not  happen  to  come  at 
any  time  when  he  was  expected,  he  would  be  so  grieved 
that   he   could   not   forbear   crying   at   his    disappoint- 
ment.   A  year  after  first  seeing,  being  carried  to  Epsom 
Downs,  and  observing  a  large  prospect,  he  was  exceed- 
ingly delighted  with  it,  and  called  it  a  new  kind  of 

seeing.'' 

VI.  As  being  of  peculiar  importance  among  the 
general  sensations,  those  of  the  muscular  sense  deserve 
special  mention  here.  It  has  been  already  observed 
that  the  feelings  of  tension  and  of  slow  movement  are 
most  valuable  for  purposes  of  cognition,  while  those  of 
rapid  movement  are  more  obtrusively  sources  of  pleasure 
and  pain.  The  sensations  of  mere  tension  —  of  a  dead 
strain  —  are  probably  least  emotional.  There  are,  in- 
deed, certain  pleasures  and  pains  connected  with  the 
support  of  the  body  in  an  erect  posture,  with  the  steady 
resistance  to  any  force,  with  being  baffled  by  an  insuper- 
able obstacle ;  but  these  emotional  effects  are  largely  due 


422  PSYCHOLOGY 

to  associated  ideas  rather  than  to  the  mere  sensations 
involved. 

The  emotional  character  of  the  muscular  sense  is  more 
decidedly  seen  in  the  sensations  connected  with  move- 
ment. Even  slow  movements  are  not  without  some 
pleasures  and  pains.  Their  sensations  are  of  the  mild 
and  soothing  type,  and  accordingly  they  are  often  of 
service  when  a  soothing  effect  is  desired.  This  effect  is 
heightened  by  the  fact  that  slow  movements,  at  least  in 
early  life,  when  our  most  common  ideas  are  formed, 
scarcely  ever  arise  from  a  vigorous  condition  of  the 
muscles,  but  rather  from  their  exhaustion  or  decay. 
Slow  movements  are  therefore  felt  to  be  in  harmony 
with  conditions  of  weariness  and  sadness.  They  are 
adopted  in  the  rock  of  the  cradle  and  in  the  lullaby  to 
soothe  a  child  fretful  with  sleepiness.  We  prefer  a  staid 
gait  and  sedate  manners,  quiet  talk  and  slow  music, 
when  tired  with  a  hard  day's  work,  or  when  saddened  by 
any  mournful  event;  and  in  general  the  aged  exhibit 
this  preference  at  all  times.  Mainly  to  the  same  cause 
also  must  we  ascribe  the  pace  of  funerals,  the  elocution 
of  religious  services,  the  time  of  plaintive  and  solemn 
music.  On  the  other  hand,  to  the  young,  and  to  all  in 
the  fresh  vigour  of  health,  slow  movements  are  apt  to 
supply  but  an  imperfect  outlay  of  energy;  and  in  the 
slang  which  fast  society  has  originated,  as  already  re- 
marked, slow  is  a  common  and  not  inexpressive  term  for 
anything  insipid. 

The  sensations  of  rapid  movement  are  of  the  exciting 
type,  and  in  excessive  forms  approach  the  nature  of 
intoxication.  The  mercurial  movements  of  the  young, 
the   exuberant   muscular   display   of  the   healthy,   are 


FEELINGS    OF    SENSE  423 

evident  sources  of  keen  animal  enjoyment.  Skating, 
with  the  imusual  speed  and  grace  and  novelty  of  its 
motions,  affords  one  of  the  most  delicious  and  healthy 
forms  of  this  pleasure.  The  dance  also  derives  a  large 
share  of  its  attraction  from  the  same  source,  though,  from 
the  accessory  circumstances  in  which  it  is  frequently 
enjoyed,  it  is  more  apt  to  work  an  unhealthy  excitement, 
and  thus  to  acquire  the  tyrannous  fascination  of  coarser 
stimulants.  This  is  proved  not  so  much  by  the  excess 
with  which  this  muscular  excitement  is  sought  in  tlie 
common  dissipations  of  society,  but  still  more  strikingly 
in  the  frenzied  extravagance  of  barbaric  religious  festi- 
vals, in  which  the  dance  forms  a  prominent  ceremony. 
The  worship  of  Demeter  and  Dionysus  in  the  ancient 
world,  the  dancing  manias  of  the  middle  ages,  and  the 
boisterous  exhibitions  of  religious  ecstasy  in  some 
modern  communities,  are  instances  of  the  intoxicating 
excitement  that  may  be  stimulated  by  the  rapid  rhyth- 
mical movements  of  a  dance. 

Such  is  feeling  at  its  rudimentary  stage  of  mere  sen- 
sation. By  the  process  of  abstraction  a  sensation  may 
attract  attention  to  one  of  its  aspects  exclusive  of  the 
others;  and  thus  its  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness 
may  become  predominant  without  regard  to  any  of  its 
other  qualities.  Usually  the  pleasure  or  pain  of  which 
at  any  moment  we  are  conscious  arises  from  a  variety  of 
sources ;  and  therefore,  even  if  partly  or  wholly  due  to 
sense,  it  loses  the  definiteness  belonging  to  any  single 
pleasant  or  unpleasant  sensation.  There  thus  results 
sometimes  a  feeling  of  vague  agreeableness  or  disagree- 
ableness,  —  that  emotional  state  which  we  express  by 
such  terms  as  joy,  gladness,  delight,  mirth,  cheerfulness, 


424  PSYCHOLOGY 

on   the   one   hand,   by   grief,   sadness,    sorrow,   on   the 
other. 

But  to  understand  our  emotional  life  in  all  its  rich- 
ness, we  must  investigate  the  specific  forms  which  this 
general  agreeableness  and  disagreeableness  assume  under 
the  play  of  modifying  influences.  These  influences, 
when  external,  can  act  only  through  the  processes  of 
mind ;  and  the  process  which  comes  into  play  first  is 
association. 


CHAPTER    11. 

FEELINGS     ORIGINATING    IN     ASSOCIATION. 

ASSOCIATIOiSr  gives  a  peculiar  tinge  to  onr  feel- 
ings by  connecting  them  in  consciousness  with 
their  objects  or  causes.  The  conscious  states  thus  origi- 
nated are  described  by  such  terms  as  liking  and  dislike, 
love  and  hatred,  as  well  as  other  synonymous  expres- 
sions, some  of  which  will  be  noticed  immediately.  The 
formation  of  such  states  is  easily  intelligible  from  the 
nature  of  the  pleasures  and  pains  out  of  which  they 
arise.  These  pleasures  and  pains  have  their  origin  in 
certain  objects  with  which  they  are  thus  necessarily 
coexistent.  When  we  become  conscious  of  this  co- 
existence, an  association  is  formed  between  the  feeling 
and  its  object,  so  that  the  feeling  will  recall  the  object, 
or,  as  happens  probably  oftener,  the  object,  even  when 
merely  remembered  or  imagined,  may  revive  the  feeling 
with  which  it  was  associated.  But  observe  the  effect 
which  this  has  on  our  emotional  relation  to  the  object. 
If  the  feeling  involved  is  pleasant,  then,  from  the  very 
nature  of  pleasure,  there  is  an  instinctive  impulse  to 
prolong  it ;  if  it  is  painful,  there  is  a  similar  impulse  to 
bring  it  to  an  end.  But  I  cannot  prolong  a  pleasure 
without  keeping  in  consciousness  the  object  which  causes 
it ;  I  cannot  bring  a  pain  to  an  end  without  banishing  its 


426  PSYCHOLOGY 

object  from  consciousness.^  It  is  for  this  reason  that  in 
the  former  case  I  am  said  to  "dwell  upon''  the  object,  to 
"  linger  over  "  it,  to  "  take  pleasure  in  "  it,  such  phrases 
being  often  used  as  synonymous  with  liking  or  love. 
On  the  other  hand,  dislike  or  hatred  is  often  expressed 
by  such  terms  as  aversion  and  revulsion;  its  object 
is  described  as  repulsive,  —  as  one  that  we  cannot 
"  brook,"  ^  that  we  can  "  take  no  pleasure  in,"  that 
we  are  "  displeased  with,"  —  as  one  that  we  cannot 
"  bear,"  ^  that  we  cannot  "  bear  the  sight  of,"  that  we 
"  cannot  away  with." 

The  object  of  a  feeling  must  here  be  understood  in 
its  widest  sense.  Frequently,  of  course,  —  perhaps  most 
frequently,  —  it  is  the  natural  cause  of  a  feeling,  that 
is,  the  phenomenon  which  by  its  natural  properties  is 
adapted  to  produce  the  feeling.  Thus  a  sensible  body 
produces  with  a  healthy  constitution  its  appropriate 
sensation;  the  death  of  a  friend  naturally  awakens 
sorrow;  the  good  opinion  of  another  gives  us  joy.  In 
other  cases,  however,  an  object  becomes  associated  with 
a  feeling  by  a  mere  accident ;  and  its  subsequent  power 
to  excite  the  feeling  depends,  not  on  its  intrinsic  prop- 
erties, but  merely  on  its  accidental  association.*     Only 

*  "  Amor  nihil  aliud  est,  quam  laetitia  concomitante  idea  causae 
externae ;  et  odium  nihil  aliud,  quam  tristitia  concomitante  idea  causae 
externae.  Videmus  deinde  quod  ille,  qui  amat,  necessario  conatur  rem, 
quam  amat,  praesentem  habere,  et  conservare  ;  et  contra,  qui  odit,  rem, 
quam  odio  habet,  amovere  et  destruere  conatur"  (Spinoza,  Ethica,  III., 
13,  Scholium). 

'  Anglo-Saxon  irucan,  enjoy. 

'  Buffer,  endure,  tolerate,  as  well  as  the  Old  English  and  Scotch 
thole,  are  also  employed. 

*  This  distinction  was  sometimes  indicated  in  an  older  psychology 
by  the  terms  primary  and  secondary,  the  former  being  applied  to  an 
affection  for  any  object  which  is  Intrinsically  lovable  or  hateful,  the 
latter  to  an  affection  for  any  object  that  is  lovable  or  hateful,  not  in 
itself,  but  merely  by  association  with  something  else  that  is  lovable  or 


ORIGmATING    m   ASSOCIATION      427 

hj  bearing  this  in  mind  can  we  explain  the  fact  that  the 
most  unreasonable  hatreds  are  often  formed  for  persons 
intrinsically  lovable,  while  love  clings  at  times  with 
tragic  pathos  to  those  who  have  done  everything  by  which 
love  is  commonly  repelled.  For  the  same  reason  any 
paltry  article,  like  many  a  keepsake,  that  is  intrinsically 
of  trivial  value  in  relation  to  pleasure  or  pain,  may  yet 
become  linked  with  a  power  to  awaken  either  an  un- 
speakable gladness  or  a  sorrow 

*'  Whose  muffled  motions  blindly  drown 
The  basis  of  the  life  in  tears." 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  this  description  includes  a  range 
of  emotions  second  to  none  either  in  their  variety  or  in 
their  importance  as  factors  of  human  life. 

As  our  feelings  of  liking  and  dislike  may  have  their 
sources  in  external  nature  or  in  ourselves  or  in  other 
persons,  they  may  be  conveniently  studied  under  these 
three  heads. 

§  1. —  Feelings  for  External  Nature. 

All  the  phenomena  of  the  external  world,  organic  and 
inorganic  alike,  are  capable  of  exciting  various  modes 
and  degrees  of  fondness  and  revulsion,  according  to  the 
predominance  of  pleasure  or  pain  in  the  impressions 
they  produce  on  our  consciousness.     Occasionally  also 

hateful  in  Itself.  The  distinction  has  been  extensively  applied  In  the 
Egoistic  theories  of  psycholopry  and  ethics,  —  that  is.  the  theories  which 
maintain  that  a  man  can  have  no  motive  in  any  action  but  the  love  of 
personal  pleasure  or  the  dislike  of  personal  pain.  The  disinterested 
aCfections  and  virtues  have  been  generally  explained  as  secondary 
phenomena  in  human  life,  due  to  the  effect  of  association.  This 
explanation  of  disinterestedness  was  common  even  among  the  Egoists 
of  ancient  Epicureanism.     See  Cicero,  De  Finibus,  I.,  20. 


428  PSYCHOLOGY 

thej  awaken  that  mingled  state  of  feeling  in  which 
delight  and  aversion  strangely  alternate.  Varieties  in 
the  form  of  these  feelings  may  be  determined  by  single 
definite  objects,  on  the  one  hand,  or,  on  the  other,  by 
more  or  less  indefinite  groups  of  objects. 

(A)  The  definite  object  of  a  liking  or  dislike  may  be 
an  animal,  a  plant,  or  any  inanimate  thing;  and  the 
feeling  for  it  may  be  based  either  on  the  effect  of  its 
intrinsic  properties  on  our  sensibility  or  on  some 
extrinsic  association.  We  need  not  dwell  again  on  the 
fact  that  any  object  may  by  the  merest  accident  become 
linked  in  our  consciousness  with  agreeable  or  disagree- 
able feelings.  It  is  well  known  that  many  ennobling  sen- 
timents as  well  as  some  of  the  most  whimsical  infatua- 
tions of  human  life  have  their  origin  in  this  cause.  But 
in  the  evolution  of  our  feelings  for  nature  we  shall  dis- 
cover the  same  tendency  which  may  be  traced  in  the  gen- 
eral evolution  of  mind,  -  —  the  tendency  to  liberate  our 
emotional  life  from  subjection  to  the  merely  natural 
effects  of  association,  to  raise  it  into  the  free  control  of 
reason. 

Consequently  the  most  interesting  feelings  of  this 
class  are  probably  those  which  are  due  to  intrinsic 
properties  in  the  object  of  love  or  aversion.  The  special 
interest  centring  on  such  emotions  consists  in  the  fact 
that  they  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  beauty  and 
ugliness  with  which  we  invest  natural  objects.  These 
feelings  must  be  considered  again ;  but  at  present  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  some  writers  have  ascribed  them 
entirely  to  association.  There  is  at  least  this  inadequacy 
in  such  a  theory,  that  it  overlooks  the  intrinsic  pleasant- 
ness of  the  sensations,  especially  of  sight  and  hearing, 


ORIGII^ATING    IN    ASSOCIATION       429 

which  beautiful  objects  are  adapted  to  produce.  The 
primrose  may  to  many  be  "  a  primrose  and  nothing 
more ;  ''  but  it  is  a  primrose,  —  an  object  endowed  with 
the  property  of  producing  certain  sensations  in  every 
human  sensibility. 

At  the  same  time  there  is  this  of  truth  in  the  theory, 
that  the  agreeableness  of  a  beautiful  object  is  not  to  be 
found,  solely  or  even  mainly,  in  the  pleasant  sensations 
which  it  is  intrinsically  qualified  to  produce.  The  very 
fact  that  to  the  uncultured  mind  the  primrose  is  simply 
a  primrose  and  nothing  more  implies  that  while  it 
produces  the  natural  sensations  of  a  primrose,  it  fails  to 
open  up  the  world  of  thought  and  sentiment  with  which 
it  can  become  associated  by  culture.  Without,  there- 
fore, foreclosing  further  inquiry  into  the  feelings  of 
beauty,  it  is  evident  that  these  must  draw  largely  from 
the  associations  which  mental  culture  forms.  This 
conclusion  is  confirmed  by  the  most  hurried  reflection 
on  the  poetry  which  interprets  for  us  the  influence  of 
natural  objects  over  the  soul.  If  the  poet  lingers  with 
aesthetic  delight  over  a  "  wee  modest  crimson-tipped 
flower,"  it  is  because 

*'  To  him  the  meanest  flower  tliat  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

(B)  But  this  feeling  for  natiire  takes  a  larger  range 
when  it  attaches  to  no  limited  object,  but  embraces  an 
indefinite  group  of  phenomena.  It  is  thus  that  we  may 
describe  the  sentiment  excited  by  scenery.  E\adently 
such  a  feeling  presupposes  a  considerable  development 
of  mental  culture.  The  child  during  the  first  few 
months  of  life  is  extremely  restricted  in  his  grasp  of 


430  PSYCHOLOGY 

things.  He  notices  an  object  near  his  eyes  or  clasped 
in  his  hands,  he  catches  any  distinct  or  startling  sound 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood;  but  even  a  limited 
group  of  objects,  such  as  make  up  the  general  appear- 
ance of  a  room,  is  obviously  beyond  his  apprehension. 
He  requires  a  longer  growth  to  seize  intelligently  the 
entire  view  of  a  garden  or  a  field,  or  the  nearest 
surroundings  of  home ;  and  he  may  never  attain  the 
ability  to  master  for  intellectual  or  emotional  results 
the  vast  outline  and  variegated  colour  and  innumerable 
subordinate  features  of  an  extensive  landscape. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  pleasantness  or  un- 
pleasantness of  a  scene  is  sometimes  purely  extrinsic. 
The  dominating  mood  of  the  soul  at  the  moment  when 
a  scene  is  viewed  may  overpower  the  most  pronounced 
natural  adaptation  to  give  pleasure  or  pain.  Innumer- 
able illustrations  of  this  are  to  be  found  in  the  love- 
songs  of  all  literature.  Drawing  their  imagery  mainly 
from  nature,  these  lyrics  give  an  infinite  variety  of  ex- 
pression to  the  psychological  fact  that  the  cheerful  or 
gloomy  aspect  of  the  external  world  depends  mainly  on 
the  mood  of  the  ruling  passion.  Through  all  their 
changes  runs  the  general  strain,  — 

'*  Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale." 

It  is  thus  that  the  most  charming  landscape  may  be- 
come to  the  sorrowful  spirit  invested  in  a  gloom  which 
it  will  wear  throughout  life,  while  it  requires  little 
inherent  attractiveness  about  the  scenery  of  a  happy 
home  to  make  it  capable  of  awakening  a  deeper  and  more 
varied  joy  than  any  other  part  of  the  world.      The 


ORIGINATING    IN   ASSOCIATION      431 

stained  glass  which  to  the  delightful  mood  of  Milton's 
II  Penseroso  forms 

"  Storied  windows  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light," 

wakens  a  totally  different  sentiment  in  the  morbid  mood 
of  Faust,  — 

"  Still  in  this  prison  forced  to  dwell !  * 

A  cursed,  dreary,  stony  cell, 
Where  the  dear  light  of  heaven  strains 
All  gloomily  through  painted  panes." 

Even  the  disinterested  enjoyment  of  beautiful  scenery 
is  closely  dependent  on  the  pleasantness  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  a  scene  is  visited ;  and  the  great  exten- 
sion of  this  emotion  in  very  recent  times  is  probably  due 
in  a  considerable  measure  to  the  facilities  for  comfort- 
able travelling  in  modern  railway-coaches  and  steamers 
and  luxurious  hotels. 

But  the  development  of  the  emotional  life,  as  of  the 
intellectual,  is  essentially  an  elevation  above  the  tyranny 
of  merely  natural  influences,  —  of  temporal  and  spatial 
associations.  Consequently  the  expansion  of  our  love 
as  well  as  of  our  hatred  for  natural  scenes  is  continually 
raising  us  out  of  merely  natural  into  rational  feeling. 
It  is  thus  that  the  cultivated  emotional  nature  refuses 
ever  more  and  more  to  be  subjugated  by  selfish  or 
restricted  associations  which  arc  meaningless  for  men 
in  general,  and,  while  not  ignoring  the  natural  power  of 
such  associations,  seeks  its  enjoyment  ratlier  in  those 
that  are  of  universal  interest  to  intelligent  beings.  As 
it  grows,  therefore,  from  the  intellectual  and  emotional 
grasp  of  the  little  nook  to  that  of  the  vast  landscape 


432  PSYCHOLOGY 

opening  from  a  mountain-top,  so  it  may  expand  into 
what  has  been  not  inappropriately  called  ^'  cosmic  emo- 
tion," —  an  emotion  which,  though  not  exhausting  the 
religious  sentiment,  yet  forms  not  its  least  noble  factor 
in  the  higher  order  of  minds.  The  poetry  of  the 
Hebrews  shows  at  what  an  early  period  man  had  learnt 
to  look  with  devout  feeling  on  the  sublimer  phenomena 
of  nature ;  ^  and  the  larger  insight  into  the  vastness  of 
the  universe,  which  is  a  chief  result  of  modern  science, 
has  surely  not  weakened  this  feeling.  "  When  I  gazed 
into  these  stars,  have  thev  not  looked  down  on  me  as  if 
with  pity,  from  their  serene  spaces,  like  eyes  glistening 
with  heavenly  tears  over  the  little  lot  of  man!  Thou- 
sands of  human  generations,  all  as  noisy  as  our  own, 
have  been  swallowed  up  of  time,  and  there  remains  no 
wreck  of  them  any  more ;  and  Arcturus  and  Orion  and 
Sirius  and  the  Pleiades  are  still  shining  in  their  courses, 
clear  and  young,  as  when  the  Shepherd  first  noted  them 
in  the  plains  of  Shinar."  ^ 

In  the  same  way  the  dislike  which  is  limited  at  first 
to  single  objects  or  scenes  that  are  intrinsically  or 
extrinsically  painful  may  expand  into  a  pessimistic 
emotion  in  view  of  the  universe;  and  to  such  a  mood 
the  stars,  no  longer  '^  glistening  with  heavenly  tears," 
may  show  a  very  different  aspect :  — 

"  Tyrants  in  your  iron  skies, 
Innumerable,  pitiless,  passionless  eyes, 
Cold  fires,  yet  with  power  to  burn  and  brand 
His  nothingness  into  man." 

1  Compare  especially  Job  ix.  6-9  ;  Psalms  viii.,  xlx.  1-6,  and  civ. 
»  Carlyle's  Sartor  Resartus,  Book  II.,  Chap.  VIII. 
»  Tennyson's  Maud,  Part  I.,  18,  4. 


OKIGINATIKG   IN    ASSOCIATION      433 


§  2.  —  Feelings  for  Self. 

Like  external  nature  and  other  human  beings,  we 
ourselves  are  adapted  to  excite  agreeable  and  disagree- 
able feelings  in  our  own  consciousness;  and  this  power 
must  be  ascribed  to  all  the  varied  features  of  our  nature, 
external  and  internal.  Not  only  our  permanent  char- 
acters, but  also  our  occasional  thoughts  and  feelings 
and  actions,  our  personal  appearance,  our  dress,  and 
even  the  estimate  taken  of  us  by  others,  are  all  capable 
of  exciting  varied  states  of  emotion.  Here  again  the 
evolution  of  feeling  is  in  the  direction  already  indicated, 
from  the  tyranny  of  restricted  influences  to  delight  in 
the  sources  of  enjoyment  that  are  universal.^ 

The  general  form  of  these  self -regarding  emotions  is, 
on  the  one  hand,  self-complacency  in  the  contemplation 
of  anything  about  ourselves  that  is  calculated  to  give 
pleasure,  on  the  other  hand,  a  dissatisfaction  with 
ourselves  on  account  of  anything  that  is  fitted  to  produce 
pain.  It  is  not  of  course  necessary  that  the  feature 
causing  pleasure  or  pain  should  be  really  attached  to  us. 
It  need  only  be  before  the  consciousness,  whether  as  a 
knoTVTi  fact  or  as  an  imagined  fiction ;  and  therefore  not 
a  few  forms  of  self-gratulation  as  well  as  of  self-torture 
are  based  on  nothing  more  substantial  than  the  power  of 
fancy.  Both  these  types  of  feeling  —  conceit  (self- 
conceit,  conceitedness)  on  the  one  hand,  and  self-humil- 
iation on  the  other  —  pass  through  all  morbid  stages 

»  On  the  subject  of  this  section  It  will  be  difficult  for  a  student  to 
find  anything  more  suggestive  than  the  admirable  chapter  (Chap.  X.) 
in  James's  Principles  of  Psychology  on  the  Consciousness  of  Self, 
especially  pp.  201-329. 

28 


434  PSYCHOLOGY 

to  the  extreme  mania  of  imagining  oneself  a  great 
historical  personage  or  a  monster  of  unpardonable 
sin. 

Self-complacency,  though  often  based  on  fanciful 
grounds,  tends  under  culture  to  grow  into  that  self- 
respect,  that  "  honest  pride,"  that  feeling  of  "  honour," 
which  forms  an  important  element  of  moral  character. 
In  like  manner  dissatisfaction  with  oneself  tends  ever 
more  and  more  to  be  confined  to  the  shock  of  pain 
which  is  felt  on  doing  w^ong,  and  to  form  therefore  the 
distinctively  moral  sentiment  known  as  remorse. 

A  factor  of  remorseful  sentiment  and  a  counterpart 
of  self-respect  is  the  feeling  of  shame  which  evidently 
arises  from  such  disagreeable  impressions  as  originate 
other  forms  of  self-dissatisfaction ;  its  peculiarity  seems 
mainly  due  to  the  fact  that  it  implies  a  reference  to 
the  actual  or  possible  knowledge  by  others  of  the  cir- 
cumstance which  causes  the  disagreeable  impression. 
This  enables  us  to  explain  the  confusion  in  thought  and 
language  between  shame  and  a  feeling  so  different  as 
modesty.  Any  unusual  exposure  before  others,  such 
as  even  the  introduction  to  strangers,  is  apt  to  produce 
in  sensitive  natures  a  shock  like  that  which  is  due  to 
the  real  or  fancied  inspection  by  others  of  something 
unworthy  in  us;  and  the  emotional  shrinking  from 
such  exposure  constitutes  the  essential  character  of 
modesty.-^ 


*  Mr.  Darwin's  theory  of  blushing  chimes  in  with  this  account  of 
the  emotion  which  it  expresses.  He  regards  it  as  due  to  the  unusual 
attention  directed  to  the  exposed  part  of  the  body,  causing  an  unusual 
discharge  of  blood  in  that  direction,  and  he  finds  that  it  diffuses  itself 
over  a  larger  surface  of  the  body  among  races  that  do  not  dress  so 
completely  as  civilised  men  {Expression  of  the  Emotions,  Chap.  ^^III.). 


ORIGINATING    IN    ASSOCIATION      435 

The  feeling  of  slianie  connects  itself  thus  with  the 
love  of  esteem.  This  emotion  was  regarded  by  many  of 
the  older  psychologists  as  an  instinctive  form  of  human 
sensibility;  but  it  requires  no  very  skilful  analysis  to 
find  in  association  with  the  good  opinion  of  others 
many  pleasantnesses  which  make  the  desire  of  esteem 
intelligible,  as  well  as  the  dislike  of  reproach. 

In  some  minds  this  desire  grows  to  remarkable 
intensity.  All  the  great  movements  of  history  — 
military,  political,  ecclesiastical,  literary  —  bring  out 
men  in  w^hom  the  love  of  fame  is  a  strong  passion. 
Though  ethically  not  the  highest  principle  of  action,  it 
becomes  valuable  as  an  aid  to  more  purely  ethical  mo- 
tives in  that  happy  coincidence  when  fame  points  in 
the  direction  of  duty. 

**Not  once  or  twice  in  our  fair  island-story 
The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory. "  ^ 

In  truth,  the  love  of  merited  praise  acts  as  a  not  incon- 
siderable stimulus  in  the  better  class  of  minds;  and 
insensibility  to  the  esteem  of  others  is  an  evidence 
either  of  extraordinary  elevation  or  of  equally  extraor- 
dinary degradation.  ^^  Contempta  fama,  contemnuntur 
virtutes."  With  truth,  therefore,  Milton  may  speak  of 
fame  as  ^^  the  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind." 

An  aspiration  having  its  root  in  the  love  of  esteem 
enters  into  the  religious  consciousness  in  the  form  of  a 
desire  to  please  God  and  win  His  favour.  It  is  such 
a  serene  aspiration  that  Milton  has  in  view  in  that 
glorious  passage  of  Lycidas,  from  which  a  familiar 
phrase  has  just  been  cited,  — 

*  Tennyson's  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Wellington. 


436  PSYCnOLOGY 

"  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 
Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies, 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  judgment  of  all-seeing  Jove."  ^ 

There  are  two  remarkable  evidences  of  the  strength  of 
this  desire  in  human  life:  one  is  the  desire  of  an  esteem 
which  we  can  never  enjoy;  the  other,  the  desire  of  an 
esteem  which  we  do  not  deserve. 

1.  The  love  of  posthumous  fame  cannot,  from  the 
necessities  of  life,  be  a  prominent  feeling  in  the  human 
mind ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  an  unknown  experience  for 
men  to  find  pleasure  in  the  imagined  praises  of  pos- 
terity. Indeed,  some  writers  of  the  present  day  main- 
tain that  a  similar  feeling  —  the  feeling  of  satisfaction 
at  anticipating  in  fancy  the  beneficent  results  of  our 
influence  on  posterity  —  may  take  the  place,  as  a  motive 
in  human  life,  of  the  Christian  faith  in  immortality. 

2.  But  it  is  perhaps  a  more  striking  proof  of  the 
strength  of  the  craving  for  esteem,  that,  when  men  are 
unable  to  secure  it  by  desert,  they  are  eager  to  win  it 
by  any  means  rather  than  lose  the  gratification  it  affords. 
This  eagerness  appears  in  two  forms.  It  may  be  a 
desire  to  get  esteem  for  things  that  are  not  estimable, 
as  implying  no  merit  on  our  part.  Such  is  the  vanity  of 
personal  appearance,  of  family  connection,  of  dress  and 
other  external  displays  of  wealth.  Or,  again,  this  desire 
may  seek  esteem  for  qualities  which  are  estimable,  but 

*  Compare  In  Memoriam  (73)  :  — 

"  We  pass :    the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds. 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 
In  endless  time?     It  rests  with  God." 


OKIGINATING    IN    ASSOCIATION      487 

which  we  do  not  possess.  Such  are  the  intellectual 
vanity  of  the  ignoramus  and  the  moral  vanity  of  the 
hypocrite. 

All  the  self -regarding  emotions  imply  the  presence  in 
consciousness  of  an  ideal  by  which  we  judge  ourselves, 
whether  this  be  the  good  opinion  of  others  or  some 
abstract  standard  of  goodness.  All  men  are  apt  to  have 
forced  on  them  the  contrast  between  this  ideal  and  their 
actual  attainments;  and  the  feeling  of  this  contrast  is 
humility. 

§  3.  —  Feelings  for  Others. 

The  largest  and  most  varied  class  of  our  likings  and 
dislikes  are  those  which  relate  to  other  persons.  To 
these  the  term  affection  has  been  restricted  by  many  of 
the  older  writers,  and  a  distinction  drawn  between 
affections  that  are  benevolent  and  those  that  are  ma- 
levolent. In  the  ordinary  use  of  language  affection  for  a 
person  is  understood  to  mean  benevolent  feeling. 

There  is  no  class  of  feelings  where  the  complications 
of  our  emotional  life  appear  so  intricate,  and  baffle  so 
completely  all  attempts  at  an  exhaustive  analysis,  even 
by  the  most  cautious  and  laborious  science.  Literary 
art,  using  as  its  favourite  material  the  interests  of  human 
life,  and  obliged  to  represent  these  in  all  their  concrete 
variations,  is  more  successful  in  giving  descriptions, 
and  perhaps  even  analyses,  of  the  affections  than  can  be 
dra^vn  by  the  abstractions  of  science.  It  is  true  that 
the  general  source  of  affections  is  not  hard  to  trace.  It 
is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  pleasure  and  pain  can  be 
derived,  not  only  from  external  nature  and  from  our- 
selves, but  also  from  other  persons.     The  vast  variety, 


438  PSYCHOLOGY 

however,  of  the  circumstances  on  which  affection  de- 
pends, and  the  complexity  of  their  endless  combina- 
tions, place  their  emotional  effects  altogether  beyond  the 
range  of  the  most  skilful  analysis.  We  may  enumerate 
facts,  both  in  the  inner  and  outer  life  of  men,  by 
which  our  feelings  are  excited  or  modified.  We  may 
remind  ourselves  that  even  circumstances,  like  rank, 
wealth,  nationality,  party-connection,  and  other  social 
relationships,  wholly  intrinsic  to  an  individual,  may 
alter  entirelv  our  affection  for  him;  that  we  receive 
some  of  our  most  powerful  influences  from  external 
features  like  beauty  or  ugliness  of  figure,  of  manner,  or 
of  dress  itself;  that,  in  instances  of  rarer  culture,  we 
seek  our  emotional  stimulants  mainly  in  the  intellec- 
tual or  moral  character  and  achievements  of  others.  We 
may  also  keep  in  view  the  fact  that  some  of  the  most 
passionate  affections  are  based  on  no  more  solid  ground 
than  mere  fancies.  But  were  a  complete  enumeration 
of  the  causes  of  emotion  possible,  it  would  still  be  neces- 
sary to  keep  in  mind  that  their  influence  is  greatly 
modified  by  each  individual's  general  susceptibility  and 
by  its  varying  moods.  The  truth  is,  that  the  multitu- 
dinous aspects  wdiich  a  human  being  may  present  to  the 
mind,  and  the  multitudinous  modes  in  which  these  may 
affect  us,  far  surpass  in  number  and  variety  the  in- 
fluences exerted  by  any  object  in  nature ;  for  while  man 
is  a  natural  product,  he  is  something  infinitely  more. 
The  result  is,  that  he  is  capable  of  awakening  all  the 
emotions  which  are  due  to  natural  objects,  with  many 
others  of  a  more  subtle  character  that  are  peculiar  to 
himself. 

Among  the  influences  which  may  be   specially  no- 


ORIGINATING    IN    ASSOCIATION      439 

ticed  as  giving  a  tinge  to  our  affections,  prominence 
should  be  given  to  the  feelings  of  otliers,  so  far,  of 
course,  as  these  can  be  read  in  their  outward  manifesta- 
tions. Here  the  analysis  of  psychologists  and  moralists 
has  been  singularly  imperfect,  when  contrasted  with 
the  achievements  of  dramatic  skill  in  the  literature  of 
history  and  fiction.  It  has  been  too  often  assumed  that 
the  feelings  of  others  excite  always  kindred  feelings  in 
ourselves,  that  their  pleasure  pleases,  and  that  their  pain 
pains  us.  This  is  an  amiable  assumption,  but  the  darker 
phases  of  human  life  forbid  us  to  regard  it  as  true. 
Both  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  others  exert  a  com- 
plex emotional  effect.  Even  if  we  set  aside  obscurer 
feelings,  such  as  wonder,  novelty,  fear,  contempt,  which 
often  impart  a  peculiar  shade  of  our  affections,  it  still 
remains  an  important  fact  that  fellows-feeling  is  not  the 
only  emotional  state  excited  by  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  others.  Along  with  this  sympathetic  effect  there  is 
another  which  by  contrast  may  be  called  antipathetic. 
Before  we  proceed  further,  therefore,  this  subject  de- 
mands a  careful  investigation. 

I.  We  shall  take  first  the  sympathetic  effect.  In 
its  generality  this  emotional  phenomenon  is  most  un- 
equivocally expressed  by  the  term  fellow-feeling.  The 
needs  of  human  life  make  fellow-feeling  with  the 
sufferings  of  one  another  by  far  the  more  important 
exercise  of  this  emotion.  This  circumstance  explains 
the  fact  in  language  that,  while  we  have  several  terms  to 
express  fellow-feeling  with  pain,  there  is  none  restricted 
to  the  specific  expression  of  fellow-feeling  w^ith  pleasure. 
On  the  one  hand,  there  are  such  terms  as  pity,  com- 
niiseration,  compassion,  condolence ;  and  even  sympathy 


440  PSYCHOLOGY 

itself  is  most  frequently  employed  with  the  same  limi- 
tation. On  the  other  hand,  words  like  congratulation^ 
complacency,  complaisance,  which  signify  literally  fel- 
low-feeling with  pleasure,  have  all  received  a  somewhat 
different  meaning. 

Of  fellow-feeling  in  its  widest  sense  it  is  generally 
agreed  that  the  natural  origin  must  be  found  in  the 
imitative  instinct;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  trace  its 
evolution  from  this  source.  That  evolution,  in  fact,  is 
marked  by  three  stages  which,  though  gradually  merging 
into  one  another,  may  yet  be  distinguished  with  suffi- 
cient clearness  to  indicate  the  general  course  of  the  pro- 
cess. The  first  stage  is  that  of  mere  imitation;  the 
second  shows  the  transition  from  imitation  to  sympathy ; 
while  the  third  represents  sympathy  pure  and  simple. 

1.  Imitation  and  sympathy  are  commonly  distin- 
guished by  the  fact  that  the  former  is  applied  to  a 
reproduction  of  the  external  actions  of  others,  the  latter 
to  a  reproduction  of  their  internal  feelings.  Both  imply 
a  reproduction  of  what  is  apprehended  outside  of  our- 
selves, but  the  intellectual  activity  of  apprehension  im- 
plied differs  in  the  two  cases.  For  imitation  nothing 
is  required  but  a  perception  of  the  action  imitated,  — 
a  perception  sufficiently  clear  to  stimulate  the  muscular 
region  called  into  play  in  reproducing  the  action,  but 
still  a  perception  of  the  action  simply  as  an  external 
movement.  On  the  other  hand,  as  we  shall  presently 
see,  sympathy  —  at  least  human  sympathy,  that  is, 
sympathy  as  a  conscious  feeling  —  requires  an  inter- 
pretation of  what  is  perceived  as  an  expression  of  the 
feeling  of  another  sentient  being.  Consequently,  while, 
as  we  shall  see  also  presently,  sympathy  depends  for 


ORIGIXATIXG    IN    ASSOCIATION      441 

its  expansion  on  a  corresponding  expansion  of  intelli- 
gence, the  instinct  of  mere  imitation  is  strongest  \mcler 
comparatively  low  phases  of  intelligence,  and  is  apt  to 
be  inhibited  when  intelligence  becomes  active.  Thus 
the  instinct  is  more  powerful  in  some  of  the  lower 
animals  than  in  any  branch  of  the  human  race.  It 
is  a  very  prominent  characteristic  of  many  birds,  such 
as  the  parrot  and  the  mocking-bird,  while  in  apes  it 
is  so  obtrusive  that  their  name  has  come  in  many  lan- 
guages to  be  used  as  a  familiar  expression  for  imitation. 
So  likewise  among  the  lower  races  of  mankind  instinc- 
tive imitation  is  far  more  common  than  in  civilised 
life.  In  his  Voyage  of  the  Beagle,^  Darwin  relates  that 
natives  of  Tierra  del  Fuego  not  only  mimicked  the 
coughs,  yawTis,  and  odd  gestures  of  his  party,  but 
repeated  correctly  English  words,  sometimes  even  whole 
sentences,  though  these  must  of  course  have  been  to 
them  simply  meaningless  sounds.  He  mentions  also 
that  he  had  heard  the  same  of  the  Caffres  and  of  Austra- 
lian tribes.  It  is  a  familiar  fact  in  harmony  with  this, 
that  in  civilised  life  the  mimetic  impulse  is  most  power- 
ful during  childhood.  Thus  children  often  amuse  their 
elders  by  the  instinctive  simplicity  with  which  they 
respond  to  the  lowing  of  a  cow,  the  bark  of  a  dog,  the 
bleating  of  a  sheep,  or  the  crowing  of  a  cock.  Generally, 
in  fact,  the  life  of-  a  child  is  so  largely  dominated  by 
the  imitative  instinct  that  it  often  appears 

"  As  if  his  whole  vocation 
Were  endless  imitation." 

In  maturer  years  usually  the  instinct  proves  its  continued 
existence  only  when  intelligence  is  comparatively   in- 

»  Chap.  X. 


442  PSYCHOLOGY 

active.  Thus  you  may  see  a  crowd  of  gaping  rustics 
swaying  their  bodies  in  unison  with  the  admired  move- 
ments of  an  acrobat;  and  among  men  of  higher  intel- 
ligence a  single  yawTi  may  set  a  whole  company  yawning 
at  a  moment  when  conversation  has  begun  to  flag,  though 
it  might  have  passed  unnoticed  if  the  intelligence  of 
the  company  had  been  quickened  by  an  animated  con- 
versation. It  is  a  fact  pointing  in  the  same  direction, 
that  the  lapse  of  intelligence  towards  imbecility  or 
insanity  is  often  associated  with  a  relapse  into  the 
primitive  instinct  of  imitation,  sometimes  in  a  morbidly 
exaggerated  form.  Idiots  are  apt  to  be  pitifully  child- 
ish in  their  imitativeness,  and  insanity  is  occasionally 
a  mimetic  mania. 

2.  These  instinctive  actions,  however,  do  not  yet 
contain  even  a  germ  of  fellow-feeling ;  they  are  simply 
reproductions  of  external  movements.  But  there  are  nu- 
merous activities  of  a  similar  kind  which  are  impossible 
without  a  certain  accompaniment  of  sympathetic  feeling. 
For  it  will  be  remembered  that  many  bodily  movements 
of  this  sort  have  become  the  habitual  expressions  of 
emotion;  and  we  have  seen  that,  by  the  familiar  influ- 
ence of  association,  such  movements  are  capable  of 
reproducing  the  emotions  which  they  express.  When, 
for  example,  the  wailing  or  laughter  of  one  person  excites 
similar  action  in  another,  the  effect  produced  is  not 
merely  a  repetition  of  the  bodily  movement;  the  wail 
or  laugh  naturally  excites  the  sorrowful  or  mirthful 
feeling  with  which  it  has  been  habitually  associated- 
Here,  therefore,  clearly  imitation  is  passing  over  into 
genuine  fellow-feeling.  These  phenomena  arise  from 
the  feelings  associated  with  the  more  active  side  of  our 


ORIGINATING    m    ASSOCIATION      443 

nature;  but  similar  phenomena  appear  in  connection 
with  the  passive  sensations.  It  is  a  mistake  indeed  to 
speak  of  any  sensations  as  strictly  passive.  As  we  have 
seen,  sensibility  is  in  general  feeble  apart  from  the 
muscular  movements  by  which  it  is  quickened;  and 
even  when  there  is  no  overt  movement  accompanying 
a  sensation,  there  is  always  a  molecular  change  in  the 
tissues  of  the  sentient  organ.  Now  this  molecular  move- 
ment seems  undoubtedly  to  be  reproduced  at  times  in 
the  same  automatic  fashion  as  imitated  muscular  move- 
ment. For  even  persons  of  moderate  sensibility,  on 
observing  another  person  suffer  a  severe  bodily  injury, 
are  apt  to  feel  a  pang  shoot  through  the  corresponding 
part  of  their  o^vn  bodies ;  and  many  are  unable  to  look 
at  serious  wounds  owing  to  their  vivid  realisation  of 
the  pain  endured.  This  sympathetic  feeling,  which 
is  a  genuine  subjective  sensation,  cannot  be  explained 
without  the  molecular  action  which  is  its  physical  con- 
dition. But  if  this  were  not  enough,  cases  of  intense 
sympathy  are  on  record,  in  which  not  only  great  pain 
was  felt  in  the  organ  affected,  but  even  a  veritably  mor- 
bid condition  of  the  organ  was  produced.^ 

3.  These  sympathetic  sensations  bring  us  almost  to 
sympatliy  pure  and  simple,  sympathy  dissociated  from 
imitation  of  bodily  movements ;  for  these  sensations  are 
evidently  but  a  fainter  revival  in  our  o\mi  organism 

»  Instances  will  be  found  in  Dr.  IT.  Tulce's  Influence  of  the  Mind  upon 
the  Body,  Chap.  XVI.  The  stories  of  the  stismatisation  of  St.  Francis 
of  Assist  and  his  imitators  ran  no  longer  l)e  disrardetl  as  mere  lejjonds 
of  monkish  superstition.  Such  stiRmatisation  is  not  only  quite  possible 
by  the  agency  of  our  psychophysical  nature,  but  it  appears  certainly  to 
have  been  produced  in  the  case  of  Louise  Lateau  so  late  as  1868.  —  a 
case  which  has  attracted  a  great  deal  of  scientific  attention.  See  Dr. 
Take,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  114-119  (Amer.  ed.). 


444  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  the  sensations  which  others  are  conceived  to  feel. 
Further,  it  is  evident  that  they  arise  from  the  vividness 
with  which  we  apprehend  the  sensations  of  others.  This 
vivid  apprehension  directs  attention  —  that  is,  strains 
nervous  energy  —  towards  the  organ  affected ;  and,  as 
we  have  seen  already,  the  concentration  of  attention 
upon  an  organ  tends  to  exoite  in  it  subjective  sensations. 
This  indicates  the  process  by  which  is  produced  a 
sympathetic  revival  of  pure  emotions,  —  that  is,  of  feel- 
ings not  distinctively  associated  with  any  bodily  organ. 
These  feelings  can  be  made  known  to  us,  of  course, 
only  by  their  expression  in  language  or  by  some  other 
form  of  bodily  manifestation.  It  is  obviously  requisite, 
however,  that  the  expression  of  the  emotion  be  intelli- 
gently interpreted  by  us ;  in  other  words,  that  we  repre- 
sent to  ourselves,  with  some  degree  of  distinctness,  the 
emotion  that  is  expressed.  But  the  representation  of  an 
emotion  is  its  revival  in  our  own  consciousness;  and 
consequently  the  intelligent  apprehension  of  an  emo- 
tion felt  by  another  person  is  a  fellow-feeling  with  him. 
This  analysis  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  in  all  the 
lower  grades  of  culture  the  power  of  sympathy  remains 
extremely  rudimentary  and  restricted  in  its  range,  while 
its  expansion  keeps  pace  with  the  evolution  of  general 
intelligence.  It  is  true  that  human  life,  especially 
among  civilised  communities,  owes  many  alleviations 
of  its  sorrows,  and  much  even  of  the  sweetness  of  social 
intercourse,  to  persons  in  whom  a  comparatively  lim- 
ited intelligence  is  combined  with  a  remarkable  quick- 
ness of  sympathy.  But  it  will  be  found  that,  however 
limited  the  general  range  of  intelligence  in  such  persons 
may  be,  it  has  been  specially  directed  to  the  interpreta- 


OKIGINATING    m    ASSOCIATION      445 

tion  of  all  the  familiar  symptoms  of  suffering,  and  that, 
therefore,  in  the  interpretation  of  these  it  often  out- 
strips intellects  that  have  become  famous  by  grappling 
successfully  with  the  complicated  problems  of  nature  or 
of  political  or  military  affairs.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
dependence  of  sympathy  on  the  intelligent  apprehension 
of  the  feelings  of  others  is  strikingly  evinced  by  the 
fact  that  the  finest  emotional  nature  may  at  times  be 
seen  exhibiting  an  unpleasant  callousness  in  presence  of 
sufferings  which  it  is  unable  to  understand.  For  the 
wider  reaches  of  sympathy  require  that  constructive  ac- 
tivity of  intelligence  which  places  us  by  imagination  in 
situations  which  we  have  never  personally  tried,  and 
enables  us  to  construct  out  of  the  materials  drawn  from 
our  own  experience  an  ideal  representation  of  the  real 
experience  of  another.  But  this  ideal  construction  is 
by  no  means  always  ready  to  command ;  and  hence  with 
all  men  sjnnpathy  is  quickest  and  most  intense  in  the 
case  of  those  sufferings  which  are  precisely  similar  to 
their  o^vn,  while  it  becomes  more  sluggish  and  less  vivid 
in  proportion  as  the  circumstances  of  a  sufferer  differ 
from  theirs.  Probably  the  highest  development  of  sym- 
pathy is  that  which  runs  out  readily  to  meet  emotional 
experiences  which  cannot  at  the  time  be  understood, 
which  are  realised  merely  as  inexplicable  sorrows  or 
joys. 

"  Little  elves  with  spirit  winning 

Haste  to  help  where  'er  they  can  : 

Be  he  holy,  be  he  sinning, 

Pity  they  the  hapless  man."^ 

II.    We  now  come  to  notice  the  less  pleasing  effect  of 
an  antipathetic  nature,  which  is  apt  to  be  produced  by 

1  Goethe's  Fauat,  opening  of  Part  II. 


446  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  feelings  of  others.  At  the  outset  of  our  inquiry  into 
this  phenomenon  we  are  met  by  a  problem  which  has 
formed  the  subject  of  an  extensive  controversy,  whether 
there  is  such  a  feeling  as  real  antipathy  —  pure  malevo- 
lence or  malice  —  in  the  human  mind.  The  controversy 
is  perhaps  owing  to  a  want  of  distinctness  in  the  use  of 
terms.  What  is  meant  by  pure  malevolence  ?  As  com- 
monly used,  the  word  must  be  understood  to  mean  either 
pain  felt  solely  on  account  of  another's  pleasure,  or 
delight  in  another's  pain,  considered  simply  as  pain. 
l^ow  the  explanation  of  sympathy  given  above  implies 
that  malevolence  or  antipathy  in  this  sense  would  involve 
a  subversion  of  the  very  constitution  of  the  human  mind. 
The  sentiment  of  sympathy  is  merely  the  emotional  side 
of  that  mental  act  which  on  its  intellectual  side  is  an 
apprehension  of  the  feelings  of  others.  Consequently 
the  conception  of  another's  pain,  purely  as  pain,  is  the 
revival  of  the  pain  in  our  own  consciousness;  and  a 
delight  in  pain  pure  and  simple  is  therefore  out  of  the 
question.*  The  same  remark  applies  to  dissatisfaction 
with  another's  pleasure.  At  the  same  time  it  will 
appear  that  the  feelings  of  others  are  accompanied  with 
adjuncts  which  afford  a  sufficient  basis  in  our  nature  for 
malevolent  antipathy;  so  that  practically  the  result  is 
the  same  as  if  we  were  capable  of  being  pleased  with  the 
pains  and  pained  with  the  pleasures  of  others.  Our  task 
is,  therefore,  to  point  out  these  occasional  adjuncts  of 
pleasure   and  pain,   which  neutralise   sympathetic  im- 

^  Even  Hobbes.  with  all  the  repulsive  egoism  which  generally  charac- 
terises his  psychology  of  the  emotions,  saw  clearly  this  truth.  After 
defining  cruelty  as  "  little  sense  of  the  calamity  of  others  proceeding 
from  security  of  men's  own  fortune,"  he  adds :  "  For,  that  any  one 
should  take  pleasure  in  other  men's  harms,  without  other  end  of  his 
own,  I  do  not  conceive  it  possible"  {Leviathan,  Part  I.,  Chap.  VI.). 


OKIGINATi:NrG    m   ASSOCIAXIOlSr      447 

pulse,  and  give,  instead,  an  antipathetic  tendency  to 
emotional  life. 

Before  doing  so  it  is  worth  noting  that  there  is  a  nega- 
tive phase  of  this  tendency  which  often  forms  a  condi- 
tion of  positive  malevolence.  This  is  that  callousness  of 
temperament  which  is  not  easily  excited  by  emotional 
stimulants  of  any  kind.  This  may  give  a  person  merely 
the  appearance  of  being  cold  and  unsympathetic,  but 
though  he  may  not  be  stirred  by  the  excitements  of 
positive  malice,  if  he  remains  unmoved  before  the  claims 
of  distress,  he  may  display  a  cruelty  more  repulsive  than 
that  of  the  man  who  is  betrayed  into  positive  cruelty  at 
times  by  outbursts  of  irascible  passion,  yet  is  capable  at 
other  times  of  generous  sjnnpathy.  Another  pliase  of 
negative  antipathy  is  one  that  arises  from  the  limitation 
of  intelligence  rather  than  of  temperament.  Such  limi- 
tation may  be  general,  as  in  the  case  of  the  savage  or  the 
child ;  sometimes  it  is  the  special  limitation  which  arises 
from  the  intelligence  not  being  trained  to  interpret  the 
signs  of  suffering  in  others. 

It  is  in  such  natures  —  natures  not  already  occupied 
by  outgrowtlis  of  s^Tupathy  —  that  the  germs  of  antip- 
athy find  a  congenial  soil.  These  germs  are  of  two 
types,  as  they  arise  either  from  an  ungenerous  pain  at  the 
pleasure  of  others  or  from  an  ungenerous  pleasure  at 
their  pain. 

1.  The  natural  source  of  the  former  is  to  be  found  in 
the  emotional  state  named  resentment.  This  term  (origi- 
nally resentiment)  denotes  etymologically  a  feeling  in  re- 
turn or  again,  and  was  formerly  applied  to  the  sentiment 
excited  in  return  for  favours  as  well  as  to  that  excited  by 
injuries.     Now  the  term  is  restricted  to  the  latter  feel- 


448  PSYCHOLOGY 

ing/  and  it  forms  a  very  appropriate  name  for  tlie  re- 
bound of  our  emotional  nature  against  injury.  This 
natural  and  healthy  feeling  may,  like  others,  take  an 
irrational  direction,  and  may  even,  by  indulgence  to  un- 
healthy excess,  degenerate  into  a  chronic  temper  of 
morbid  irritability.  As  we  have  seen,  it  requires  for 
its  excitation  merely  some  kind  of  pain,  against  which 
it  is  a  natural  rebound.  We  have,  therefore,  to  find  out 
whether  the  pleasure  of  another  person  may  present  any 
aspect  in  which  it  is  capable  of  giving  pain.  I^ow  the 
pleasures  of  others  are  not  ours;  and  though  this  con- 
sideration may  be  overwhelmed  in  a  generous  sympathy, 
yet  it  may  also  at  times  force  into  consciousness  the  con- 
trast between  their  pleasurable  and  our  pleasureless 
condition.  If  this  contrast  is  not  banished  from  thought, 
but  brooded  over,  it  may  give  rise  to  the  various  forms 
of  malicious  feeling  that  come  under  the  description  of 
envy  and  jealousy. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pains  of  others  are  capable 
of  producing  a  twofold  antipathetic  effect. 

(a)  The  contrast  between  ourselves  and  the  sufferer 
may  excite  a  feeling  of  self-gratulation,  which  may  even 
rise  to  a  coarse  exultation,  over  our  o^vn  freedom  from 
his  misfortune.  One  of  the  most  common  forms  of  this 
exultation  is  met  with  in  the  ungenerous  reflection  on 
a  competitor's  defeat,  which  often  gives  a  zest  to  the 
triumphs  of  successful  rivalry. 

(h)  Again,  the  sight  of  suffering  has  often  a  varied 

^  A  similar  restriction  may  be  traced  in  the  history  of  the  word 
retaliation  (Trench's  Study  of  ^VoriJs,  pp.  54-55,  11th  ed. ).  Trench  re- 
gards these  restrictions  of  meaning  as  due  to  a  degradation  from  the 
standard  of  sentiment  in  the  good  old  times.  They  are  evidently  rather 
the  result  of  that  differentiation  which  characterises  the  growth  of  all 
language. 


OKIGIXATING    1:^"    ASSOCIATION      449 

pleasurable  effect.  It  may  relieve  the  languor  of  monot- 
ony, it  may  by  its  extraordinary  nature  startle  with  a 
pleasant  surprise;  while  the  contortions  of  the  victim 
exhibit  at  times  that  character  of  oddity  which  is 
the  source  of  ludicrous  effects.  These  emotional  excite- 
ments are,  in  finer  natures,  generally  supplanted  by  the 
vivid  sympathetic  realisation  of  the  suffering  expressed ; 
but  to  coarse  or  morbid  natures,  that  feed  on  such 
excitements,  they  bring  a  real,  though  horrid,  pleasure. 
Savage  life  evidently  derives  one  of  its  keenest  zests 
from  the  torture  of  enemies,  and  in  civilised  life  a  child 
may  be  seen  bursting  into  boisterous  fun  over  the  wrig- 
glings  of  a  mutilated  insect.  The  scenes  of  the  amphi- 
theatre formed  one  of  the  most  fascinating  attractions  to 
the  populace  of  ancient  Rome;  the  Emperor  Claudius, 
in  fact,  uniformly  ordered  falling  gladiators  to  be  slain, 
as  we  are  told  by  Suetonius,  ^'  ut  expirantium  facies 
videret."  A  modern  mob,  lynching  a  wretched  negro, 
seems  to  revive  all  the  savage  sweetness  of  revenge.  Mili- 
tary enthusiasm  and  the  many  startling  excitements  of  a 
battle  between  two  great  armies  are  able  to  obliterate  in 
a  spectator's  mind  all  thought  of  the  appalling  horror  of 
the  scene ;  and  even  his  history  of  it,  written  in  cool 
blood,  often  betrays  the  pleasurable  excitement  which 
the  scene  still  rouses  in  his  memory.  The  emotional 
excitements  of  the  chase  have  not  yet  lost  their  fascina- 
tion for  civilised  man,  even  if  it  no  longer  forms  any 
part  of  the  serious  business  of  his  life,  but  the  anguish  of 
terror  and  of  death  is  inflicted  upon  the  game  merely  for 
sport.  Even  the  most  refined  nature  betrays  a  faintly 
malicious  disposition  in  the  occasional  pleasure  of  teas- 
ing a  friend. 

29 


450  PSYCHOLOGY 

It  is  evident  from  all  these  considerations,  that  a  very 
large  factor  of  our  emotional  life  consists  of  the  feelings 
excited  by  our  fellow-men.  A  very  large  proportion  of 
that  pleasurable  excitement  without  which  human  life 
would  be  intolerably  dull  is  derived  from  social  inter- 
course. Accordingly  psychologists  and  moralists  have 
long  recognised  the  love  of  society  as  forming  one  of  the 
most  powerful  feelings  in  the  human  mind.  It  is  true 
that  in  many  minds  —  perhaps  in  all  minds  at  some 
time  —  there  is  a  love  of  solitude  which  seems  to  con- 
tradict the  theory  that  the  love  of  society  is  an  inherent 
craving  of.  human  nature.  But  society  has  its  distrac- 
tions, vexations,  fatigues ;  and  to  those  who  have  known 
these  solitude  is  a  relief.  Still,  the  life  of  the  recluse 
is  essentially  a  sacrifice  of  manifold  pleasures,  and  has 
therefore  been  a  favourite  form  of  ascetic  self-denial 
in  nearly  all  religions.  Fellowship  is  one  of  the  most 
imperious  w^ants  of  man,  and  the  power  of  this  w^ant 
is  pathetically  illustrated  in  niunerous  stories  of  solitary 
confineanent  or  enforced  seclusion. 

"  Cast  on  the  wildest  of  the  Cyclad  isles, 
Where  never  human  foot  had  marked  the  shore, 
These  ruffians  left  me  ;  yet  believe  me,  Areas, 
Such  is  the  rooted  love  we  bear  mankind, 
All  ruffians  as  they  were,  I  never  heard 
A  sound  more  dismal  than  their  parting  oars."i 

*  Thomson's  Afjamemnon.  Ilobbes  is  usually  represented  as  main- 
taining that  the  natural  state  of  men  is  one  of  unsocial  hostility  ;  but  this 
doctrine  is  often  inadequately  understood  as  implying  that  there  is  no 
basis  for  social  existence  in  human  nature.  Hobbes  does  recognise  cer- 
tain natural  impulses  that  attract  men  to  friendly  intercourse,  and  are 
mere  powerful  than  the  "  three  causes  of  quarrel,"  namely,  competition, 
diffidence,  and  glory.  The  only  fault  one  can  find  with  Hobbes's  doc- 
trine is  the  ludicrous  incompleteness  in  his  enumeration  of  man's  social 
impulses.  "  The  passions  that  incline  men  to  peace,"  he  says,  "  are  fear 
of  death,  desire  of  such  things  as  are  necessary  for  commodious  living, 
and  a  hope,  by  their  industry,  to  enjoy  them "  {Leviathan,  Part  I., 
Chap.  XIII.). 


OEiGi:^ATmG  i:^  association    451 

But  our  emotional  relation  to  our  fellow-men  consists 
not  merely  of  this  general  delight  in  their  companion- 
ship; it  assumes  the  form  of  specific  affections  for  par- 
ticular persons.  It  is  usual,  as  already  observed,  to 
classify  these  in  two  great  divisions  as  benevolent  and 
malevolent;  but  such  a  division  is  apt,  without  explana- 
tion, to  misrepresent  the  concrete  realities  of  our  emo- 
tional life.  The  feelings  we  entertain  for  others  are 
generally  of  a  very  mingled,  often  of  a  vacillating  char- 
acter ;  and  now  it  is  the  benevolent,  now  the  malevolent, 
factors  that  prevail.  Still,  if  we  bear  this  complication 
in  mind,  the  division  affords  a  convenient  guide  for  more 
detailed  examination  of  the  phenomena.  Here,  of  course, 
emotion  follows  the  usual  course  of  its  development.  It 
starts  with  those  feelings  which  depend  on  purely  natu- 
ral associations,  and  expands  gradually  to  those  which 
imply  an  intelligent  choice.  Consequently  it  will  be 
found  that  the  affections,  both  benevolent  and  malevolent, 
may  be  subdivided  into  two  main  types,  the  natural  and 
the  rational;  though  here  again  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  our  actual  feelings  seldom  belong  to  either 
type  exclusively.^ 

(A)  Benevolent  affections  are  the  various  modes  in 
which  we  find  pleasure  in  other  persons.  They  are 
called  benevolent  obviously  because  they  seek  their  grati- 
fication in  the  real  or  imagined  well-being  of  their 
objects,  though  it  is  an  important  moral  truth  that 
without    rational    guidance    these    emotional    impulses 

'  This  distinction  was  first  drawn  by  Bishop  Butler,  and  has  boon 
generally  adopted  by  subsequent  writers,  In  reference  to  the  malovoient 
affections.  See  Butler's  Sermon  on  Resentment.  The  distinction,  how- 
ever. Is  obviously  applicable  with  equal  propriety  to  the  benevolent 
affections,  and  indeed  to  the  emotions  in  general. 


452  PSYCHOLOGY 

often  produce  the  very  opposite  effects  to  those  which 
they  seek. 

In  the  very  front  of  the  benevolent  affections  we  come 
npon  one  that  may  be  regarded  as  forming  the  centre 
from  which  social  life,  and  therefore  also  social  feeling, 
radiate.  Sexual  love  is  an  emotion  sui  generis,  exhibit- 
ing the  characteristics  both  of  the  natural  and  the  ra- 
tional types.  Psychologists  have  too  generally  treated 
it  in  the  spirit  of  Dr.  Reid,  who  declares  that  '''  it  is 
fitter  to  be  sung  than  said,"  and  accordingly  leaves  it 
"to  those  who  have  slept  on  the  two-topped  Parnassus."^ 
It  is  true  that  this  emotion  has  formed  a  favourite 
material  of  poetry;  and  the  reason  is  probably  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  it  is  distinguished  by  an  unusual 
combination  of  great  intensity  with  great  ideal  power. 
Still,  this  should  render  it  only  a  more  interesting  sub- 
ject of  scientific  analysis.  The  complete  analysis  of 
the  emotion  is,  indeed,  impossible.  The  truth  is,  that 
all  the  influences  by  which  one  human  being  is  capable 
of  exciting  amiable  sentiment  in  another  are  apt  to 
be  distilled  into  a  finer  essence  of  concentrated  power 
in  passing  through  the  alembic  of  the  sexual  nature. 
Consequently  this  emotion  may  be  modified  into  a  thou- 
sand different  forms  according  to  the  character  of  the 
influences  by  which  it  has  been  generated ;  and  therefore 
literary  art,  by  its  concrete  treatment,  is  always  able 
to  describe  the  love  of  the  sexes  with  more  of  the  truth 
of  nature  than  can  be  given  to  the  abstractions  of  science. 

The  peculiar  character  of  this  affection  finds,  of 
course,  its  natural  basis  in  the  difference  of  sexual  con- 
stitution.    A  grossly  inadequate  view  of  this  difference 

*  Reid's  Works,  p.  564   (Hamilton's  ed.). 


origi:n^ating  m  associatiox    453 

restricts  it  mainly  to  one  set  of  organs;  but  as  a  tnie 
physiology  and  a  true  psychology  look  on  no  single 
organ,  but  rather  on  the  whole  organism,  as  being  the 
organ  of  mind,  so  they  compel  us  to  regard  the  whole 
organism  as  an  exponent  of  the  difference  of  sex.  The 
more  thoroughly  this  view  takes  possession  of  the  mind, 
the  more  thoroughly  also  does  sexual  feeling  free  itself 
from  a  mere  animal  appetite,  and  expand  into  that 
spiritual  sentiment  which  forms  at  once  one  of  the 
purest  enjoyments  and  one  of  the  purest  moral  influ- 
ences of  life.  It  has  been  maintained  that  this  spiritual- 
isation  of  the  sentiment  has  been  the  result  of  mediaeval 
chivalry;  but  this  is  a  question  which  belongs  rather  to 
history  than  to  psychology.  Whatever  may  have  been 
the  history  of  this  sentiment  in  the  past,  it  must  follow 
the  general  course  of  emotional  evolution ;  and  any  re- 
version to  the  sensuous  restriction  of  the  feeling,  such 
as  occasionally  makes  its  appearance  among  the  eccen- 
tricities of  literature,  is  not  only  an  anachronism,  but 
a  solecism  in  art,  as  decided  as  if  the  poet  were  to  seek 
the  fittest  material  for  the  artistic  description  of  a 
banquet  in  the  animal  gusto  with  which  the  viands  are 
devoured. 

I.  Among  the  other  benevolent  affections,  those  which 
are  founded  on  relationships  of  nature  c^me  appropri- 
ately first  under  consideration.  The  characteristic  of 
these  is  determined  by  the  fact  that  they  arise  from 
natural  associations,  not  from  combinations  of  intelli- 
gence. It  is  not  any  rational  consideration  that  directs 
them  to  their  objects ;  it  is  simply  the  extrinsic  associa- 
tions of  space  and  time.  They  appear,  therefore,  as 
blind  instincts,  as  imreasoning  passions,  that  cling  to 


454  PSYCHOLOGY 

their  objects  without  any  reflection  upon  the  intrinsic 
character  of  these. 

1.  Of  such  social  instincts  the  type  is  to  be  found 
in  what  is  called,  by  pre-eminence,  natural  affection 
(^aTopyri)j  —  that  is,  affection  between  persons  of  the 
same  kindred.  The  passionate  intensity  of  this  affec- 
tion is  mainly  determined  by  the  closeness  of  the 
natural  relation  out  of  which  it  arises;  and  conse- 
quently a  mother^s  love  has  in  all  ages  been  regarded  as 
among  the  most  irresistible  instincts  of  nature.  Even 
within  the  sphere  of  the  family,  as  intelligence  matures 
with  age,  natural  affection  is  apt  to  be  modified  by 
rational  considerations;  while,  outside  of  that  sphere, 
though  the  natural  relation  may  still  have  a  powerful 
influence  on  the  affections,  these  receive  their  colour, 
in  a  very  large  measure,  from  the  character  of  their 
objects. 

2.  A  natural  affection  is  often  developed  towards  a 
community  with  which  we  are  connected  by  natural 
causes.  ^\Tierever  social  organisation  exists,  this  senti- 
ment ennobles  human  life;  it  appears  in  the  devotion 
of  the  savage  to  his  tribe,  in  the  attachment  to  a  muni- 
cipal home,  in  the  patriotism  with  which  men  sacrifice 
themselves  for  a  fatherland.  The  last  fruit  of  nature's 
growth  in  this  direction  is  that  philanthropy  —  that 
"  enthusiasm  of  humanity  "  —  in  which  is  attained  an 
emotional  realisation  of  the  natural  relationship  of  all 
mankind. 

II.  But  such  a  late  outgrowth  of  natural  affection 
can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the  other  form  of 
benevolence;  for  this  is  but  the  extension  to  persons 
who  are  not  akin  to  us  of  those  affections  which  are 


ORIGINATIKG    m    ASSOCIATION      455 

naturally  excited  towards  our  own  kindred.*  This  ex- 
pansion of  benevolent  feeling,  however,  is  but  a  mode 
of  the  general  development  of  mind,  which  frees  itself 
from  the  spatial  and  temporal  associations  of  nature, 
rising  into  the  independent  combinations  of  thought. 
Affection  tends  thus  to  lose  the  passionate  force  of  an 
unreflecting  instinct,  and  to  be  distinguished  by  the 
deliberate  calm  of  intelligent  choice.  This  character- 
istic of  the  rational  affections  is  expressively  embodied 
in  the  Latin  verb  diligo,  which  is  properly  limited  to 
them,  and  which  is  suggestive  of  the  cognate  intelligo 
and  seligo? 

Like  the  natural  affections,  the  rational  begin  with 
attachments  to  individuals,  and  form  the  friendships 
of  human  life.  But  they,  too,  may  extend  to  societies, 
—  that  is,  to  societies  which  we  enter  by  voluntary 
choice;  and  it  is  thus  that  the  sentiment  of  esprit  de 
corps  is  created. 

It  is  important  to  bear  in  mind,  further,  that  when 
any  rational  affection  for  an  individual  or  a  society  has 
existed  some  time  it  originates  numerous  associations 
which  are  apt  to  impart  to  it  some  of  the  passionate 
blindness  of  natural  affection.  This  explains  Avhy  the 
benevolent  sentiment  which  actuates  the  members  of  a 
society  in  common  may  appear  in  relation  to  other 
societies,  not  only  as  a  "  generous  rivalry,"  but  also  in 
the  malevolent  form  of  party-spirit  or  sectarianisan. 

*  This  seems  Indicated  In  the  adjective  kind,  which,  like  the  suh- 
stantive,  Is  from  the  Anfjlo-Saxon  cennnn,  to  bepet  (cf.  kindle),  cognate 
with  the  archaic  Latin  f/eno  (<iUino),  and  the  Greek  yewa*,). 

'  The  contrast  of  dUiijo  with  amn,  which  expresses  rather  the  Inten- 
sity of  natural  affection.  Is  finely  l)rou;^ht  out  in  one  of  Cicero's  letters: 
*'  L.  Ciodius  valde  me  dilisit,  vel,  ut  «/Li<<)aTiKWT«pot'  dicam,  valde  me  amat " 
{Ad  Brutum,  I.,  1.     Cf.  Ad  Familiarea,  IX.,  14;    XIII.,  47). 


456  PSYCHOLOGY 

(B)  We  are  thus  brought  to  the  second  great  division 
of  the  affections,  —  the  malevolent.  The  origin  of 
malevolence  or  antipathy  has  been  explained  above : 
we  have  now  to  describe  the  principal  forms  which  it 
assumes. 

I.  At  its  lowest  stage  malevolence,  like  benevolence, 
is  excited  by  mere  associations  of  nature;  it  is  a  purely 
animal  instinct,  a  blind  passion,  like  natural  affection. 
Its  stimulating  cause  may  therefore  be  any  accidental 
harm  —  anything  innocently  offensive  —  such  as  even 
an  inanimate  object.  Occasionally  in  civilised  life  this 
unreasoning  outburst  of  resentment  may  be  observed,  as 
when  a  man  in  instinctive  anger  kicks  a  stone  against 
which  he  has  inadvertently  struck  a  tender  toe.  But 
it  is  in  savage  life,  or  in  situations  like  a  battle  in  which 
the  restraints  of  civilisation  are  snapped  asunder,  that 
the  instinct  exhibits  its  most  appalling  power.  Savages 
have  been  seen  tearing  an  arrow  from  their  lacerated 
flesh  and  biting  it  in  rage.  Commodore  Byron  saw  a 
native  of  Tierra  del  Fuego  snatch  up  in  a  fury  his  own 
child,  who  had  accidentally  dropped  a  basket  of  eggs, 
and  dash  the  little  fellow  against  the  rocks  with  such 
violence  that  almost  immediately  afterwards  he  died.^ 

II.  But  resentment  loses  the  passionate  force  of  a 
natural  instinct  when  intelligence  is  called  into  play. 
It  then  requires  something  more  to  rouse  it  than  mere 
harm;  it  requires  an  intentional  injury,  supposed,  if 
not  real.  The  injury  need  not,  indeed,  be  inflicted 
directly  on  ourselves.  If  borne  by  another,  it  may  by 
sympathy  become  an  injury  to  us,  and  thus  excite  re- 

^  Lubbock's  Prehistoric  Times,  p.  560.  Other  examples  will  be 
found  in  Tylor's  Primitive  Culture,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  259-260. 


OKIGIXATING    I:N^    ASSOCIATION      457 

sentment.  Such  representative  resentment  is  usually 
called  indignation. 

Resentment,  whether  instinctive  or  rational,  may  be 
modified  by  numerous  influences ;  and  thus  it  gives  rise 
to  the  specific  forms  of  malevolent  affection  by  which 
human  life  is  disturbed.  Like  benevolence,  it  may 
attach  itself  to  individuals  or  to  communities. 

I.  Among  the  malicious  affections  for  individuals, 
as  we  have  seen,  some  arise  from  the  feeling  of  pain 
which  is  apt  to  be  excited  by  contrasting  the  pleasures 
of  others  with  our  o^vn  want  of  their  pleasures;  while 
a  second  class  originate  in  the  pleasures  which  are 
sometimes  excited  by  circumstances  attendant  on  the 
pains  of  others. 

(a)   Of  the  former  envy  and  jealousy  are  the  types. 

1.  Envy  is  usually  described  as  a  malevolent  out- 
growth of  rivalry,  but  it  may  arise  in  circumstances  in 
which  there  is  no  explicit  competition  with  others.  Still, 
it  finds  its  most  natural  stimulant  in  competition,  espe- 
cially when  the  object  is  one  of  merely  relative  value. 
WTien  outstripped  by  another  in  the  pursuit  of  any  such 
object,  we  are  apt  to  feel  hurt  by  his  success ;  and  envy, 
in  so  far  as  it  implies  malevolence,  is  the  resentful 
passion  thus  excited.  This  analysis  is  confirmed  by  the 
fact  that  the  word  envy  is  often  used  without  malevolent 
implications,  but  always  with  reference  to  a  pleasure 
which  we  are  not  enjoying  ourselves,  as  when  one  friend 
says  to  another,  "  I  envy  you  your  privileges,"  etc. 

In  connection  with  this  subject  a  distinction  has  been 
dra^vn  between  objects  of  pursuit  which  are  of  absolute 
value,  such  as  intelligence  or  virtue,  and  those  which  are 
of  relative  value,  —  which  are  of  value  to  any  one  merely 


458  PSYCHOLOGY 

in  comparison,  or  rather  in  contrast,  with  the  degree  in 
which  they  are  possessed  by  others.  The  vulgar  craving 
for  wealth,  fine  clothing,  splendid  equipages,  palatial 
residences,  popular  applause,  is  largely  a  mere  wish  to 
have  something  more  or  better  than  one's  neighbours; 
and  there  is  often  all  the  annoyance  of  baffled  endeavour 
when  the  object  has  been  gained  by  so  many  as  to  be 
no  longer  distinctive.  Pursuits  of  the  former  class  are 
spoken  of  as  generous,  because  in  them  the  successful 
enjoy  their  success  only  the  more,  the  more  that  others 
partake  of  the  same  boon.  It  is  in  pursuits  of  the  latter 
class  that  envy  naturally  arises.^ 

2.  Jealousy  arises  similarly  under  the  influence  of  an 
affection  which  can  be  gratified  only  by  its  return. 
When  another  mns  the  love  which  we  have  expected, 
we  feel  hurt;  and  our  resentment  of  this  injury  consti- 
tutes jealousy.  This  passion  may  be  felt  in  the  case 
of  any  affection.  Thus  it  may  form  a  just  resentment 
in  the  case  of  a  parent  from  whom  a  child's  love  has 
been  withdra^vn  by  some  third  person.^  But  jealousy 
is  most  common  and  most  powerful  in  connection  with 
sexual  love,  partly  because  of  the  intensity  of  this  affec- 
tion, partly  because  with  it,  more  than  with  any  other, 
the  success  of  one  rival  inevitably  involves  the  defeat 
of  another,  and  a  defeat  often  entailing  the  keenest 
emotional  anguish  of  which  the  human  mind  is  sus- 
ceptible. 

*  This  distinction  is  finely  illustrated  by  Ferguson,  Principles  of  Moral 
and  Political  Science,  II.,  1,  7. 

'  Xenophon  draws  a  parallel  between  marital  and  paternal  jealousy, 
in  Cyrop.,  III.,  1.  Possibly  it  was  in  part  to  the  paternal  jealousy 
of  Anytus  that  Socrates  owed  his  death.  In  the  strong  Eastern  Imagery 
of  the  Old  Testament  God  is  described  as  jealous  when  His  creatures 
give  to  other  objects  the  love  which  He  alone  may  claim. 


okigi:n^atixg  in  association    459 

(h)  The  malevolent  affections  of  envy  and  jealousy 
are  effects  of  failure  in  a  competition ;  but  success  often 
brings  with  it  a  kind  of  malice  as  well,  —  the  malicious 
pleasure  of  feeling  our  success  enhanced  by  relief  against 
the  failure  of  a  beaten  rival.  And  thus,  while  rivalry 
may  develop  a  malevolent  pain  in  the  defeated  party, 
it  may  develop  a  malevolent  pleasure  in  the  victor. 
This  second  phase  of  malevolence,  however,  takes  a  great 
variety  of  forms  unconnected  with  any  rivalry.  Some 
of  the  pleasurable  excitements  have  been  pointed  out, 
which  are  more  or  less  intimately  associated  with  the 
infliction  of  suffering;  and  if  these  pleasures  are  in- 
dulged sufficiently,  they  are  obviously  capable  of  devel- 
oping the  most  hideous  psychical  monsters  of  humanity, 
or  rather  of  mhumanity.  In  a  militant  society,  in  which 
the  leading  interests  are  boimd  up  with  the  destruction 
of  property  and  life,  a  large  proportion  of  men  naturally 
become  revengeful,  bloodthirsty,  exulting  in  a  spirit  of 
sheer  mischief.  Schadenfreude,  iTTL^^aipeKaKia. 

Strangely  enough,  the  malevolent  passions  by  which 
communities  are  separated  have  their  origin  in  the 
benevolent  affections  by  which  each  community  is  held 
together.  The  attachment  to  any  society  on  the  part 
of  its  different  members  is  apt  to  produce  a  social  selfish- 
ness which  may  be  as  baneful  in  its  effects  as  the  nar- 
rower selfishness  of  individuals.  It  is  thus  that  all 
sectional  loves  are  perpetually  generating  sectional 
hatreds  among  men.  The  malicious  enmities  of  political 
parties  and  of  religious  sects,  "  the  feud  of  rich  and 
poor,"  the  hostile  feelings  of  different  nations,  or  even 
of  different  provinces  and  municipalities  in  the  same 
nation,  are  instances  of  restricted  hatreds  growing  out 


460  PSYCHOLOGY 

of  restricted  loves.  As  the  relations  of  a  man  to  the 
other  sex  may  sometimes  be  peculiarly  unfortunate,  it  is 
not  unintelligible  that  misogyny  should  be  an  occasional 
phenomenon  among  human  feelings.  Even  misanthropy 
is  not  inexplicable.  When  a  man  has  been  signally 
unfortunate  in  the  world,  when  his  misfortunes  have 
been  caused  by  the  villany  of  others  and  solaced  by  no 
generous  help,  the  emotional  nature  may  receive  such  a 
twist  as  to  make  it  insensible  to  the  pleasantness  of 
human  character,  sensible  only  to  its  irritations,  while 
the  judgment  may  be  so  warped  as  to  create  a  thousand 
imaginary  causes  of  irritation  where  there  are  none  in 
reality  to  gratify  the  distorted  sensibility. 

It  seems  necessary  to  add  one  word  on  revenge.  What 
is  understood  by  this  term  is  an  action  rather  than  a 
feeling;  it  is  an  action  done  under  the  impulse  of 
malevolent  passion,  not  under  the  guidance  of  reason. 
The  highest  morality,  therefore,  reprobates  revenge ;  but 
it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  no  action  done  under 
the  mere  impulses  of  nature  is  moral,  and  that  any 
emotion,  even  benevolence,  may  lead  to  disastrous  results 
if  allowed  to  control  our  conduct  without  rational 
direction. 


CHAPTER   III. 

FEELINGS    ORIGINATING    IN    COMPAEISON. 

AS  in  the  class  of  feelings  to  which  the  previous 
jfjL  chapter  is  devoted  the  prominent  fact  is  the  asso- 
ciation of  pleasures  and  pains  with  their  objects  or 
causes,  so  in  those  to  which  we  now  proceed  the  other 
mental  process,  comparison,  is  the  determining  feature ; 
in  other  words,  they  are  the  emotions  that  arise  from 
a  comparison  of  their  objects  with  other  objects.  As 
this  involves  the  relation  of  objects  in  consciousness, 
the  feelings  in  question  have  been  called  feelings  of 
relativity.  This  name  may  appropriately  embrace  a 
larger  range  of  emotions  than  it  is  sometimes  used  to 
denote;  it  is,  in  fact,  applicable  to  all  emotions  that 
arise  from  an  object  being  thought  under  any  relation. 
All  objects,  indeed,  must  be  knoTVTi  under  relations; 
but  the  relation  of  an  object  need  not  be  the  obtru- 
sive phenomenon  in  consciousness.  When  it  is  so,  it 
is  calculated  to  excite  emotions  that  vary  in  kind 
Avith  the  nature  of  the  relation  concerned,  in  degree 
with  the  intensity  with  which  the  relation  absorbs  the 
consciousness. 

The  most  easily  intelligible  relations  are  those  of 
space  and  time.  Spatial  relations,  by  themselves,  do 
not  seem  competent  to  excite  emotion ;  for  it  need 
scarcely  be  pointed  out  that  tiie  feelings  excited  by 
movement  involve  the  relation  of  time  as  well.     The 


462  PSYCHOLOGY 

feeling,  too,  of  vastness  in  extent,  awakened  by  an 
immense  landscape,  by  a  lofty  mountain,  or,  still  more, 
by  the  infinite  spaces  of  the  stars,  derives  its  peculiar 
nature  rather  from  the  idea  of  sublimity  than  from  that 
of  space  alone. 

Time  enters  as  a  subordinate  factor  into  many  of 
our  emotions;  but  we  must  limit  ourselves  to  those  in 
which  it  is  the  distinctive  element.  Here  meet  us  first 
the  emotions  already  noticed,  the  feelings  of  movement, 
which  have  a  spatial  element  in  their  primitive  form, 
but  throw  that  off  in  what  has  been  called  the  "  ideal 
movement "  of  music  and  speech.  Here  abstract  rapid- 
ity and  slowness  produce  pleasant  or  unpleasant  effects 
without  reference  to  any  change  of  place. 

Another  class  of  feelings  arising  from  temporal  rela- 
tions are  those  which  have  been  called  the  prospective 
and  the  retrospective.  The  prospect  of  pleasure  is,  on 
its  emotional  side,  hope;  the  prospect  of  pain  is  fear. 
These  feelings  are  profoundly  modified  by  the  degree 
of  uncertainty  attaching  to  prospective  pleasure  or  pain. 
They  thus  range,  on  the  one  side,  from  a  feeble  expecta- 
tion to  perfect  confidence,  assurance,  faith ;  on  the  other 
side,  from  a  faint  timidity  to  the  violent  agitation  of  an 
agonising  terror,  or  to  what  is  the  real  counterpart  of 
confident  hope,  that  state  of  despair  in  which  all  hope 
has  vanished.  But  the  uncertainty  of  the  future  often 
leaves  the  mind  in  that  state  of  suspense  in  which  hope 
and  fear  strangely  alternate  or  conflict  with  each  other.  ^ 

^  "  Spemque  metumque  inter  dubii  "  (Aeneid,  I.,  218),  which  Byron 
probably  had  in  his  eye  when  writing  Don  Juan,  II.,  98  :  — 

"  And  then  of  these  some  part  burst  into  tears ; 
And  others,  looking  with  a  stupid  stare, 
Could  not  yet  separate  their  hopes  from  fears." 


ORIGINATING    IN    COMPARISON       463 

This  state  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  exhausting 
to  which  our  emotional  nature  is  subject;  and  possibly 
its  painfulness  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that,  like  discord- 
ant sounds  and  other  feelings  noticed  before,  it  consists 
of  a  series  of  intermittent  shocks,  the  intervals  of  which 
allow  the  sensibility  to  recover,  and  thus  to  undergo  an 
excessive  stimulation. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  retrospect  of  past  pleasures 
has  long  been  considered  as  one  of  the  largest  and  purest 
sources  of  human  enjoyment.  For,  in  accordance  with 
laws  of  feeling  which  have  been  sufficiently  explained 
already,  it  is  easier  to  reproduce  in  consciousness  a  state 
of  invigorating  pleasure  than  a  painful  condition  of 
injurious  excitement;  and  therefore,  as  we  shall  see 
more  fully  in  the  sequel,  the  past  in  general  appears 
more  pleasant  in  retrospect  than  it  did  in  actual  experi- 
ence. The  prominence  in  human  life  of  the  enjoyments 
derived  from  retrospect  is  significantly  indicated  by 
the  fact  that  they  form  the  subject  of  Rogers's  principal 
poem.  The  Pleasures  of  Memory,  as  The  Pleasures  of 
Hope  form  the  subject  of  the  most  popular  poem  of 
Campbell.  There  is,  indeed,  no  distinctive  name  for  the 
emotional  state  excited  by  the  pleasures  of  memory ;  but 
the  painful  events  of  the  past  are  the  sources  of  the 
emotion  familiarly  known  as  regret.  Further,  it  is 
to  be  borne  in  mind  that  even  a  pleasant  past  may 
receive  in  retrospect  a  tinge  of  pensive  regret  at  the 
mere  thought  of  it  as  past.  This  emotional  attitude 
towards  ^'  the  days  that  are  no  more  "  forms  the  theme 
of  a  well-kno^vn  lyric  of  Tennyson's  in  The  Princess. 

Both  the  prospective  and  the  retrospective  feelings 
enter  extensively  as  modifying  influences  into  our  emo- 


464  PSYCHOLOGY 

tional  life.  Our  loves  and  hates,  for  example,  are  deeply 
tinged  by  hopes  and  fears ;  while  regret  becomes  aggra- 
vated into  remorse  when  the  painful  event  on  which  we 
reflect  is  thought  as  due  to  any  moral  fault  of  our  ovm. 
This  may  explain  why  a  psychologist  like  Dr.  Thomas 
Bro^\Ti  should  be  able  to  classify  a  large  proportion  of 
our  emotions  under  the  heads  of  prospective  and  retro- 
spective.^ It  is  true,  it  may  be  shown  that  in  all  the 
feelings  thus  distinguished  a  prospect  or  retrospect  is  im- 
plied ;  but  in  most  this  element  is  not  the  differentiating 
cause  which  gives  its  character  to  the  feeling. 

But  the  universal  relations  of  intelligence  are,  as  we 
have  seen,  those  of  identity  and  difference;  and  these 
give  rise  to  a  long  series  of  varied  emotions.  Such 
emotions  have  not  always  separate  names.  Sometimes 
it  is  the  pleasant,  sometimes  the  unpleasant,  side  which 
is  most  prominent  in  human  life,  and  w^hich  is  accord- 
ingly distinguished  by  a  familiar  name.  The  most 
common  of  these  emotions  may  be  briefly  described. 

I.  Variety,  as  has  already  been  noticed  more  than 
once,  is  essential  to  the  continuance  of  consciousness 
itself.  It  is  therefore  essential  to  that  stimulation  of 
the  sensibility  which  is  required  for  pleasure.  But  of 
this,  as  of  other  stimulants,  it  is  only  a  moderate  degree 
that  is  pleasing.  Excessive  variety  is  apt  to  be  be- 
wildering, —  that  is,  painfully  fatiguing.  On  the  other 
hand,  an  insufficient  variety  produces  the  unpleasant 
feeling  knovvm  as  monotony,  —  a  feeling  which  is  capable 
of  completely  neutralising  any  form  of  enjoyment.^ 

1  Lectures  on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  63-72  inclusive. 

>  Monotony,  iiowever,  seems  to  take  two  distinguisliable  forms.  First, 
it  may  be  tlie  weaker  pain  of  insufficient  stimulation,  when  we  can  let 
our  attention  stray  from  the  monotonous  object,  and  it  simply  loses 
interest  for  us.  But  when  the  object  is  one  from  which  we  cannot 
escape,  its  monotony  may  mean  the  weariness  of  a  fatiguing  strain. 


ORIGINATING    IN    COMPARISON       465 

II.  We  may  enjoy  a  variety  of  impressions  that  are 
all  familiar;  but  even  the  repetition  of  such  a  variety 
produces  at  last  a  feeling  akin  to  monotony,  —  the  feel- 
ing of  excessive  familiarity  or  staleness.  This  is  relieved 
only  by  the  presentation  of  new  objects  to  the  mind. 
Novelty  supplies  the  wonted  stimulus  to  the  sensibility, 
and  is  therefore  a  well-known  source  of  agreeable  effects. 
Here  again,  however,  it  is  only  a  moderate  stimulus 
that  is  pleasing.  An  excessive  novelty,  such  as  we  find 
in  objects  that  are  spoken  of  deprecatingly  as  brand- 
new,  is  too  stimulating  to  be  agreeable. 

III.  Familiarity  implies  the  repetition  of  the  same 
objects;  but  a  similar  effect  on  the  feelings  may  be 
produced  by  the  continued  presentation  of  the  same  kind 
of  objects.  This  is  the  disagreeableness  which  we  asso- 
ciate with  anything  extremely  commonplace.  On  the 
other  hand,  any  object  which  is  not  so  much  individually 
a  novelty,  which  rather  differs  wholly  from  the  kind  of 
things  to  which  we  are  accustomed,  excites  the  emotion 
of  wonder.  This  emotion  is  sometimes  too  intense  to 
be  pleasant.  An  excessive  deviation  from  what  we  are 
used  to  expect  may  lead  to  painful  astonishment.  In 
extreme  cases  a  marvel  may  even  produce  the  effect  of 
other  excessively  pow^erful  stimulants;  it  may  deaden 
the  sensibility:  we  may  be  astounded,  diunfounded, 
stupefied.  But  this  feature  of  objects  is,  perhaps  more 
frequently,  the  source  of  a  pleasant  surprise.  Its 
pleasantness  is  illustrated  by  the  power  which  the  love 
of  the  marvellous  exercises  over  the  mind.  Not  only  is 
the  marvel-monger  a  favourite  among  vulgar  minds ; 
the  same  passion  often  induces  the  scientific  student  to 
accept  without  hesitation  ill-verified  assertions  regarding 

80 


406  PSYCHOLOGY 

natural  phenomena  of  a  marvellous  kind,  while  it  also 
forms  at  times  a  -misleading  taste  in  the  literature  of 
history  and  fiction. 

IV.  Resemblance  and  contrast  are  additional  modifi- 
cations of  identity  and  difference.  As  already  explained, 
resemblance  is  identity  in  the  midst  of  difference, 
while  contrast  is  difference  in  the  midst  of  identity. 
These  relations  are  the  source  of  various  emotions,  gen- 
erally of  an  agreeable  nature.  A  contrast  may  some- 
times be  too  violent  for  pleasure.  This  is,  in  fact,  the 
cause  of  painfulness  in  extreme  astonishment  or  novelty. 
But  more  generally  the  flash  of  contrast,  and  probably 
always  the  flash  of  resemblance,  in  consciousness  is  an 
agreeable  stimulus.  They  both  enter  largely  into  the 
pleasures  of  scientific  discovery  and  artistic  invention. 
The  development  of  science  is  a  progressive  insight  into 
the  resemblances  and  contrasts  that  pervade  nature,  while 
agreeable  devices  of  literary  art,  such  as  the  common 
figures  of  speech,  are  founded  on  the  emotional  effects 
of  similitude  and  antithesis. 

V.  When  identity  and  difference  are  applied  to  time, 
we  get  the  relations  of  periodicity  and  aperiodicity,  of 
rhythm  and  irregularity  of  movement ;  for  these  relations 
imply  respectively  the  recurrence  of  identical  and  of 
different  times.  Even  in  the  feelings  of  sense  the 
organism  appears  adapted  to  rhythmical  stimulation. 
As  already  explained,  it  is  this  adaptation  that  makes 
tones  agreeable  in  contrast  with  noises,  rich  in  contrast 
wuth  harsh  qualities  of  tone,  and  harmonious  com- 
binations of  tone  in  contrast  with  discords.  It  may 
also  account  in  some  measure  for  the  disagreeableness 
of  a  flickering  light,  of  false  time  in  music,  of  a  false 


OKIGINATING    IN    COMPAKISON       467 

quantity  or  metre  in  the  recitation  of  poetry,  of  false 
steps  in  a  dance,  of  an  unsteady  gait,  of  any  movement 
by  jerks,  of  an  orator  who  speaks  in  spurts.  It  is  not 
easy  to  say  where,  in  such  cases,  sensuous  feeling  ends ; 
but  it  is  evident  that  in  the  higher  feelings  also  rhythm 
mingles  as  an  emotional  agent.  It  enters  especially, 
as  an  influential  factor,  into  the  enjoyment  of  poetical 
and  musical  form. 

VI.  Another  set  of  relations  involving  identity  and 
difference  are  those  of  harmony  and  discord,  understood 
in  the  figurative  application  of  these  terms.  In  their 
most  general  use  these  terms  may  be  interpreted  as 
implying  an  identity  or  difference  of  relations,  as  when 
two  objects  do  or  do  not  form  complementary  parts  of 
one  whole.  Such  identity  and  difference  is,  therefore, 
what  we  understand  by  the  various  expressions,  order 
and  disorder,  proportion  and  disproportion,  symmetry 
and  asymmetry,  congniity  and  incongruity. 

The  relation  denoted  by  the  former  term  in  each  of 
these  sets  of  expressions  is  a  very  extensive  source  of 
the  more  refined  enjojTnents  of  human  life.  It  enters 
largely  into  the  varied  forms  of  aesthetic  gratification 
which  we  receive  from  nature  and  from  all  the  arts, 
while  the  vast  cosmic  order  gives  in  cultured  minds  a 
tone  to  the  religious  sentiment.  The  other  relation  is 
of  interest  perhaps  chiefly  because  it  forms  the  basis  of 
the  ludicrous. 

The  sentiment  of  the  ridiculous  has  given  rise  to 
almost  as  great  diversity  of  opinion  as  the  feeling  of 
beauty.  Various  qualities  in  objects  have  been  main- 
tained to  be  the  sources  of  ridicule.  Incongruity,  mean- 
ness, degradation  accompanied  by  the  feeling  of  power 


468  PSYCHOLOGY 

or  self-exaltation,  have  all  found  their  advocates. 
Against  each  of  these  qualities  instances  have  been  cited 
where  not  ridicule,  but  some  other  emotion  —  pity, 
anger,  scorn,  etc.  —  has  been  excited.*  Such  criticisms 
overlook  the  fact  that  there  is  a  subjective  as  well  as 
an  objective  condition  of  feeling.  The  emotional  effect, 
therefore,  of  any  objective  quality  cannot  be  told  without 
knowing  how  the  mind  is  related  to  that  quality  at  the 
time.  Thus  incongruity  will  excite  ridicule,  if  it  is  not 
counteracted  by  the  mental  condition  of  the  moment. 
But  an  incongruous  object  may  often  be  view^ed  in  other 
aspects ;  and  consequently  it  may  produce  different  feel- 
ings in  different  minds,  or  even  in  the  same  mind  at 
different  times.  Take,  for  example,  the  odd  contortions 
of  pain,  or  the  comical  behaviour  of  a  drunkard.  When 
view^ed  exclusively  on  their  droll  side,  these  phenomena 
will  assuredly  excite  the  sentiment  of  the  ridiculous; 
but  that  side  may  be  entirely  obliterated  in  minds  of 
deeper  insight  or  more  sympathetic  tenderness.  On 
going  over  ridiculous  objects  no  more  prominent  charac- 
teristic than  incongruity  can  be  found  universally  pres- 
ent. Other  qualities,  such  as  degradation,  with  the 
relief  of  seK-exaltation,  may  be  frequently,  perhaps  com- 
monly, met  with ;  but  even  if  they  could  be  shown  to  be 
uniformly  there,  in  the  production  of  ridicule  they  are 
altogether  subordinate  to  the  relation  expressed  by  such 
terms  as  disproportion,  incongruity,  oddity,  drollness. 
It  is  true  that  the  degradation  of  an  object,  especially 
Avhen  set  in  relief  by  the  self -exaltation  of  the  subject, 
gives  one  of  the  most  startling  forms  of  this  relation; 
but  unless  the  degradation  is  purely  ideal,  as  it  is  in 

*  See,  for  example,  Bain's  Tfie  Emotions  and  the  Will,  p.  248. 


OKIGINATIXG    m    COMPAEISO:^^       469 

a  vast  number  of  cases,  the  sentiment  of  good-humoured 
fun,  the  sesthetic  enjoyment  of  comic  art,  becomes  tainted 
with  the  malevolent  gratification  of  satire.^ 

VII.  The  feelings  of  freedom  and  restraint  have  also 
been  enumerated  among  those  that  are  based  on  com- 
parison; for  it  is  only  by  relation  to  each  other  that 
these  conditions  have  any  meaning  in  consciousness. 
Were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  human  life  provides  all  men 
with  an  occasional  experience  of  the  irksomeness  of 
restraint,  the  glory  of  freedom  would  never  be  realised ; 
and  without  a  taste  of  freedom  it  is  proverbial  that  the 
slave  will  "  hug  his  chains." 

VIII.  Emulation — that  is,  the  emotional  excitement 
developed  in  competition  —  is  obviously  due  to  a  com- 
parison between  the  subject  of  the  feeling  and  his  rival 
or  rivals.  This  feeling  undergoes,  of  course,  the  same 
kind  of  expansion  to  which  mental  evolution  in  general 
is  subject,  and  therefore  it  manifests  itself  in  a  great 
variety  of  directions.  It  also  enters  extensively  as  a 
factor  into  many  of  the  complex  emotions,  inasmuch  as 
the  activities  by  which  our  sensibility  is  excited  are 
very  often  pursuits  in  which  we  are,  implicitly  or  ex- 
plicitly, competing  with  our  fellow-men. 

1  An  excellent  monograph  on  the  subject  of  this  paragraph  has  re- 
cently appeared  in  the  work  of  Mr.  Sully  referred  to  before.  An  Ensay 
on  Laughter,  its  Forms,  Causes,  Development,  and  Value  (1903). 


CHAPTER    IV. 


INTELLECTUAL    FEELINGS. 


OUR  pleasures  and  pains  are  the  concomitants  of 
the  varied  activities  of  life.  Now  our  activi- 
ties may  be  regarded  as  cognitional  or  volitional,  as 
intellectual  or  practical;  and  there  are  some  feelings 
whose  chief  determining  cause  is  an  activity  of  the  one 
or  of  the  other  kind.  In  the  present  chapter  we  shall 
examine  the  intellectual,  and  in  the  concluding  chapter 
the  practical  emotions. 

The  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  the  source  of  many 
and  varied  enjoyments.  There  is  scarcely  one  of  the 
pleasurable  feelings  described  in  the  previous  chapter 
which  may  not  be  at  times  experienced  in  intellectual 
pursuits.  The  exertion  of  intellect,  when  not  over- 
strained, is  itself  an  agreeable  activity ;  while  self-esteem, 
the  esteem  of  others,  the  pleasure  of  power,  and  other 
feelings  may  enter  as  subsidiary  factors  of  the  whole 
enjoyment.  It  is  not,  therefore,  difficult  to  explain  the 
love  of  knowledge,  —  the  feeling  commonly  treated  by 
psychologists  under  the  name  of  curiosity.  During  the 
earlier  years  of  life,  until  the  familiar  facts  of  the  world 
are  mastered,  curiosity  forms  a  strong  and  useful  im- 
pulse. In  later  life  it  is  only  among  men  of  some 
education  that  it  forms  a  useful  and  refining  power. 
In  vulgar  minds  it  allies  itself  with  the  more  petty 
instincts,  and  even  with  the  malicious  passions  of  human 


INTELLECTUAL    FEELIXGS  4Tl 

nature,  degenerating  into  a  prurient  craving  after  the 
knowledge  of  facts  too  trivial  or  too  pernicious  to  be 
worth  knowing. 

It  thus  appears  that  the  use  of  the  intellect  in  acquir- 
ing knowledge  is  a  source  of  numerous  pleasures.  Gen- 
erally, however,  the  emotional  factor  of  intellectual 
work  is  subordinate,  the  consciousness  being  absorbed 
in  the  primal  end  of  the  work,  the  object  to  be  known. 
This  end  may  be  purely  speculative,  —  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge  for  its  own  sake ;  or  it  may  be  practical,  — 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge  for  the  purpose  of  directing 
us  to  some  ulterior  result.  But  in  either  case  it  is 
the  object  sought  that  engrosses  the  conscious  effort. 
Sometimes,  however,  the  end  of  intellectual  activity  is 
neither  speculative  nor  practical,  but  simply  the  delight 
in  the  activity  itself,  not  excluding,  of  course,  any  collat- 
eral pleasures  which  it  may  involve ;  and  then  arises  the 
emotional  state  known  as  aesthetic  feeling. 

The  nature  of  this  feeling  has  been  already  indicated 
in  the  chapter  on  Idealisation.^  It  was  there  shown  that 
intellectual  activity,  to  be  aesthetic,  must  be  of  the  nature 
of  play.  But  play  is  an  exercise  which  seeks  no  end 
beyond  its  o^\Tl  pleasure ;  and  therefore  aesthetic  enjoy- 
ment is  found  in  the  intellectual  activity  itself  out  of 
which  it  arises,  not  in  any  ulterior  end.  It  follows  from 
this  that  aesthetic  gratifications  are  distinct  from  selfish 
pleasures,  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  moral  interests  on 
the  other. 

I.  They  are  distinct  from  all  selfish  enjoyments,  — 
all  enjoyments  connected  with  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Hence, 

»  Book  II.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  IV. 


472  PSYCHOLOGY 

1.  Some  sensations,  such  as  the  gustative  and  the 
alimentary,  are  wholly  excluded  from  the  aesthetic  field. 
In  fact,  sensation  as  such  —  mere  sensuous  excitement 
—  is,  strictly  speaking,  not  yet  aesthetic.  The  higher 
sensations  furnish  natural  materials  for  the  aesthetic 
consciousness ;  but  they  yield  a  purely  aesthetic  pleasure 
only  when  they  have  entered  into  suggestive  associations 
and  intellectual  combinations.  Accordingly  it  was  sho^vn 
that  the  different  sensations  are  adapted  to  artistic  pur- 
poses in  proportion  to  their  distinct  representability. 
^^sthetic  material,  being  thus  found  rather  in  ideal 
representations  than  in  actual  sensations,  can  be  enjoyed 
by  many;  it  is  not  consumed  in  being  enjoyed  by  one. 
The  enjoyment  is  therefore  essentially  unselfish,  dis- 
interested. The  contrast  between  selfish  and  aesthetic 
gratifications  is  extreme,  when  we  compare  the  pleasure 
of  merely  viewing  a  tastefully  decorated  banquet  and 
the  pleasure  of  eating  the  viands.  The  unselfishness 
of  aesthetic  emotion,  therefore,  constitutes  also  its  re- 
finement ;  for  refinement,  as  previously  explained,  is  the 
power  of  freeing  consciousness  from  mere  sensuous 
states,  and  occupying  it  with  mental  products. 

2.  But  even  ideal  representations,  to  be  aesthetic, 
must  be  absolutely  disinterested.  Beautiful  objects 
may  at  times  naturally  excite  meaner  passions,  like  envy, 
jealousy,  or  vanity.  A  bitter  drop  of  envy  or  jealousy 
is  often  sufficient  to  neutralise  all  the  sweetness  of 
aesthetic  feeling ;  an  artistic  production  that  is  known  to 
be  a  vulgar  parade  of  wealth  may  fail  to  achieve  the 
aesthetic  effect  that  might  have  been  expected  from  its 
intrinsic  merit.  If  a  work  of  art  implies  wealth  in  its 
possessor,  it  is  not  this  fact  which  fits  it  for  yielding 


INTELLECTUAL    FEELINGS  473 

aesthetic  gratification.  In  the  same  way,  although  the 
useful  may  be  beautiful,  it  is  so  not  because  it  is  useful, 
but  because  of  the  intellectual  pleasure  afforded  by  con- 
templating the  manner  in  which  it  is  useful. 

II.  But  aesthetic  feeling  is  essentially  distinct  from 
all  moral  interests,  as  it  is  from  the  selfish  passions  of 
the  struggle  for  existence.  Moral  activity  supposes  an 
ulterior  end;  in  fact,  it  supposes  an  implicit  reference 
to  the  ultimate  end  of  our  being.  Consequently  it 
stands  related  to  art  in  the  same  way  as  the  production 
of  utilities.  Art  may  be  moral  as  it  may  be  useful, 
and  its  aesthetic  effect  may  be  enhanced  by  its  morality 
or  by  its  utility.  Nay,  the  artist,  being  a  moral  agent, 
must  have  some  sort  of  moral  aim  in  his  artistic  activity 
as  in  other  spheres  of  his  conduct.  Moreover,  the  object 
of  art  being  the  production  of  an  intellectual  pleasure, 
the  artist  dare  not  overlook  the  value  of  the  moral  sen- 
timents, as  any  flagrant  offence  to  these  would  inevitably 
defeat  his  aesthetic  aim.  Still,  the  aesthetic  gratification 
which  a  work  of  art  yields  cannot  be  derived  from  the 
fact  that  it  has  a  moral  purpose.  This  fact  would  excite 
the  sentiment  of  moral  approbation.  The  aesthetic 
pleasure  is  derived  from  contemplating  the  manner  in 
which  the  moral  facts  of  life  are  combined  for  the  pro- 
duction of  an  artistic  effect. 

The  pure  form  of  aesthetic  pleasure  is  that  expressed 
by  the  term  beauty,  and  pure  aesthetic  pain  is  ugliness. 
But,  like  other  emotions,  these  admit  of  numerous  modi- 
fications according  to  the  subsidiary  influences  which 
may  happen  to  predominate  in  the  artistic  material  by 
which  the  aesthetic  effect  is  produced.  In  works  on 
psychology  and  aesthetics  it  is  common  to  give  promi- 


474  PSYCHOLOGY 

nence  to  the  feelings  of  sublimity,  in  wliicli  sestlietic 
enjoyment  is  jnst  passing  over  into  the  disturbing  emo- 
tions of  wonder  and  awe  and  power.  The  picturesque 
and  the  ludicrous  are  also  familiar  objects  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  In  the  former  the  pure  aesthetic  feeling  is 
modified  by  an  excess  of  variety;  in  the  latter,  by  an 
excess  of  incongruity.  In  strictness,  however,  aesthetic 
feeling  is  much  more  variously  modified  than  it  is  com- 
monly represented  to  be.  The  "^veird,  for  example,  in 
which  the  mysterious,  the  ^'  uncanny,''  the  supernatural 
plays  a  prominent  part,  has,  indeed,  a  certain  affinity 
with  the  sublime  in  the  common  feeling  of  awe,  but  is 
destitute  of  its  other  essential  factors.^  A  distinct  place 
ought  also  to  be  given  to  the  tragic,  in  which  the  painful 
emotions,  especially  terror  and  pity,  form  the  chief 
aesthetic  material,  and  also  to  the  dramatic,  in  which 
aesthetic  effects  are  based  mainly  on  plot-interest. 

But  the  complete  analysis  of  these  various  aesthetic 
effects  would  carry  us  into  the  details  of  the  science  of 
aesthetics. 

^  The  feeling  of  the  weird  is  expressed  in  the  Scottish  adjective  eery. 


CHAPTER   V. 

FEELINGS    OF    ACTION. 

IN  the  general  evolution  of  mental  life  volition  — 
that  is,  action  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  term  — 
is  called  into  play;  and  the  action,  as  action,  gives  rise 
to  various  feelings,  pleasurable  and  painful. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  mere  action,  —  a  pleasure  which 
at  an  earlier  period  of  life  displays  itself  mainly  in 
the  lovo  of  muscular  sports,  and  during  later  years  gives 
a  zest  to  the  varied  industrial,  intellectual,  and  moral 
activities  of  men.  But  all  action,  strictly  so  called, 
implies  an  end;  and  this  circumstance  constitutes  it 
a  more  fruitful  source  of  emotion. 

I.  The  attainment  of  any  end  gives  us  the  pleasure 
of  feeling  that  it  is  within  our  powder,  as  failure  to  reach 
it  excites  the  mortification  of  powerlessness,  of  baffled 
endeavour.  In  this  we  have  the  source  of  ambition,  the 
love  of  power,  which  obviously  forms  an  extensive  and 
varied  influence  in  human  life.  If  in  younger  years, 
and  in  many  men  to  the  very  last,  it  shows  itself  only  in 
the  pleasure  of  producing  results  of  bodily  strength  or 
skill,  it  expands  under  advancing  culture  into  the  aspi- 
ration after  that  power  which  high  intelligence  wields 
over  nature  and  men.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that  this 
emotion  enters  as  an  ingredient  into  the  pleasure  of 
virtue,  inasmuch  as  the  virtuous  life  is  a  realisation  of 


476  PSYCHOLOGY 

complete  power  over  self,  not  to  speak  of  the  influence 
it  may  exert  over  others.  But  the  love  of  power  seems 
also  to  add  force  to  the  cruel  side  of  hmnan  nature; 
nothing  yields  such  a  vivid  consciousness  of  our  power 
over  another  as  his  submission  to  our  torture.^ 

II.  But  without  evoking  the  definite  feeling  of  power, 
the  presence  of  an  end  may  kindle  a  more  or  less  eager 
desire  for  its  attainment.  This  eagerness  takes  some- 
times an  egoistic,  sometimes  an  altruistic  direction.  1. 
In  its  egoistic  form  it  originates  the  pleasure  of  pursuit, 
the  pleasure  of  approximating  to  the  end  of  an  action, 
to  the  ideal  of  a  life.  2.  In  its  altruistic  form  this  emo- 
tion arises  from  contemplating  the  activity  of  others  and 
the  development  of  its  results.  We  thus  obtain  that 
large  element  of  literary  gratification,  the  pleasure  of 
plot-interest. 

III.  As  each  action  supposes  an  end,  so  each  sub- 
ordinate end  supposes  some  supreme  end,  to  which  it 
is  merely  a  means.  All  the  immediate  ends  of  human 
actions,  therefore,  point  to  a  chief  end  of  man,  a  summum 
honwn  of  his  life.  The  pleasures  connected  with  the 
pursuit  and  attainment  of  this  end,  the  pains  connected 
with  the  failure  to  reach  it,  —  these  enter  as  prominent 
factors  into  the  moral  sentiments. 

^  Stewart  has  given  a  specially  interesting  illustration  of  the  nu- 
merous directions  of  the  love  of  power  in  his  Philosophy  of  the  Active 
and  Moral  Powers,  Book  I.,  Chap.  II.,  §  4. 


PART    III. 

VOLITIONS. 

VOLITIONS  are  actions  consciously  directed  to  an 
end;  and  the  problem  of  psychology  is  to  explain 
the  process  by  which  we  acquire  control  over  our  actions 
so  as  to  make  them  subserve  the  ends  we  have  in  view, 
instead  of  being  aimless.  In  the  treatment  of  this  prob- 
lem we  shall  discuss  (1)  the  nature  of  volition,  (2)  the 
motive  power  of  the  feelings,  (3)  the  extension  of  volun- 
tary control  over  muscles,  feelings,  and  thoughts,  (4) 
freedom  of  volition. 

CHAPTER    L 

THE    GENERAL    NATURE    OF    VOLITION. 

HERE,  as  in  cognition  and  feeling,  the  rudimentary 
material  of  the  mental  life  is  to  be  found  in 
sensation, -- here  considered  as  giving,  not  information 
or  pleasure  and  pain,  but  impulse  to  action.  There  are, 
indeed,  impulses  outside  of  conscious  sensation.  There 
are  possibly,  as  a  favourite  doctrine  of  Professor  Bain 
holds,  spontaneous  discharges  of  surplus  muscular 
energy.^     Whether  Bain's  doctrine  be  well  founded  or 

^  The  Scnfscs  and  the  Intellect,  pp.  59-73  ;    The  Emotions  and  the 
Will,  pp.  297-308. 


478  PSYCHOLOGY 

not,  there  is  no  doubt  that  stimuli  transmitted  along 
afferent  nerves  are  often  reflected  along  efferent  nerves 
without  exciting  consciousness.  Movements  excited  in 
this  way  are  described  as  reflex. 

These  spontaneous  and  reflex  muscular  movements 
are  not  without  value  in  the  development  of  voluntary 
movements;  but  they  are  by  no  means  so  valuable  as 
those  experiences  in  which  movement  f ollow^s,  though  in- 
voluntarily, upon  a  conscious  sensation.  Thus  we  close 
the  eyes,  or  turn  the  head  away,  from  a  dazzling  light. 
We  shrink  or  scream  or  groan  under  an  excessive  pain. 
The  hand  plays  tenderly  with  any  smooth,  soft  body 
which  it  touches.  We  are  constantly  shifting  to  relieve 
the  uneasiness  of  a  posture  maintained  too  long.  In  a 
thousand  ways  the  feeling  of  pleasure,  perhaps  more 
frequently  the  feeling  of  pain,  discharges  itself  in  ex- 
citements of  motor  nerve.  The  movements  thus  in- 
voluntarily stimulated  by  sensation  are  observed  very 
strikingly  in  the  changing  positions  of  the  sleeper  when 
he  is  disturbed.  It  is  not  possible  always  to  distinguish 
such  movements  from  strictly  reflex  actions;  but  the 
distinction  is  real. 

Besides  these  spontaneous  and  reflex  and  sensational 
actions  there  is  another  class  that  cannot  yet  be  charac- 
terised as  voluntary.  These  are  excited  merely  by  the 
cognition  of  an  object.  AMien  an  object  is  perceived  or 
imagined  or  conceived,  there  is  good  ground  for  be- 
lieving that  the  cerebral  disturbance  involved  diffuses 
itself  over  a  more  or  less  extensive  region  of  the  nervous 
and  muscular  systems.  The  result  is  not  only  that 
vital  organs  —  the  heart,  the  lungs,  and  the  lower  intes- 
tines—  may   be   affected,   but  contractions   of  muscle 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    VOLITION     479 

may  be  stimulated  to  produce  overt  movements.  Ideas 
therefore  show  a  tendency  to  act  themselves  out  in  mus- 
cular motion,  so  far  as  this  is  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  are  present  to  consciousness.  In 
fact,  this  seems  to  be  the  primitive  impulse  of  every 
idea,  and  its  inhibition  is  due  to  that  habit  of  self-control 
which  forms  the  essence  of  all  training.  The  impulse 
is  illustrated  perhaps  most  familiarly  and  clearly  in  the 
faculty  of  speech.  Every  word,  except  to  persons  bom 
deaf,  is  an  articulate  sound  producible  by  certain  move- 
ments of  the  vocal  organs.  Consequently,  whenever  a 
word  is  represented  to  the  mind,  it  is  apt  to  stimulate 
the  muscular  movements  by  which  it  is  produced.  Not 
only,  therefore,  do  children  and  the  untutored  races  of 
mankind  seem  generally  incapable  of  thinking  without 
speaking  their  thoughts,  but  even  men  of  intellectual  and 
moral  vigour  will  probably  be  found  very  often,  when 
thinking  intently,  to  be  thinking  aloud.  In  many  other 
cases  actions  seem  to  be  simply  the  result  of  ideas  realis- 
ing themselves  in  bodily  movement;  and  consequently 
they  have  come  to  be  called  ideo-motor  actions} 

When  an  action  is  thus  involuntarily  performed, 
Avhether  by  a  spontaneous  or  reflex  or  sensational  or 
ideo-motor  stimulus,  it  may  be  the  cause,  directly  or  in- 
directly, of  pleasure  or  pain.  In  fact,  most  of  our  pleas- 
ures and  pains  imply  some  action  on  our  part.  We 
speak  of  objects  being  the  causes  of  our  feelings;  but 

*  This  name,  I  believe,  originated  with  Dr.  W.  B.  Carpenter,  by 
whom  this  class  of  actions  was  first  clearly  distinguished.  His  de- 
scription of  them  is  still  perhaps  the  fullest  and  most  interesting  in 
our  literature.  See  his  Human  Physiolofii/.  §§  Gr»r)-6G4,  reproduced  in 
hiB  Mental  Physiology,  Chap.  VI.  Professor  Bain  also  gives  an  elaborate 
description  of  the  phenomena  in  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  pp.  330- 
348  (3d  ed.). 


480  PSYCHOLOGY 

objects  must  be  brought  into  the  proper  relation  to  our 
organism  to  excite  its  sensibility.  Thus  a  beautiful 
scene  must  be  looked  at,  a  sapid  body  must  be  put  into 
the  mouth,  an  odour  must  be  sniffed,  before  the  appro- 
priate feelings  can  be  experienced.  The  action  therefore 
comes  to  be  associated  In  consciousness  with  the  pleasure 
or  pain  it  produces;  and,  as  already  explained,^  it  is 
thus  that  likings  and  dislikes  are  aroused.  The  asso- 
ciation of  action  and  feeling  makes  them  mutually  sug- 
gestive. The  feeling,  therefore,  whether  actually  felt 
or  merely  remembered,  will  suggest  the  action  by  which 
it  is  produced ;  but  an  action  —  a  muscular  movement 
—  cannot  be  represented  in  consciousness  without  a  faint 
thrill  in  the  muscular  region  which  would  be  stirred  if 
the  movement  were  actually  made.  This  thrill  of  rep- 
resenting an  action  in  connection  with  a  pleasure  to  be 
reached  or  a  pain  to  be  avoided  by  it,  —  this  is  that  con- 
scious state  of  desire,  craving,  longing,  yearning,  which 
has  been  well  named  "  the  small  beginnings  of  action."  ^ 
This  mental  state  finds  its  most  vivid  and  familiar 
illustration  in  the  earliest  form  in  which  it  shows  itself 
in  human  life,  —  our  animal  appetites.  The  term 
appetite,  when  used  in  its  most  restricted  sense,  is  applied 
to  those  periodic  cravings  which  arise  from  the  recurring 
wants  of  animal  nature.  Of  these  it  is  common  to  dis- 
tinguish two  kinds  —  one  as  being  natural  and  original, 
the  other  as  artificial  and  acquired.  The  latter  are  sim- 
ply particular  habits  imposed  on  the  nervous  system  by 
the  peculiar  indulgences  of  individuals.  Such  are  the 
cravings  for  alcohol,  tobacco,  opium,  tea,  flesh,  spices, 

*  See  Chap.  II.  of  the  previous  Part. 

*  Hobbes,  Leviathan,  p.  39   (Molesworth's  ed.). 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    VOLITION     481 

and  other  stimulants  or  narcotics.  Appetites  of  this 
sort  are,  of  course,  not  universal  impulses  of  the  human 
mind,  but  are  mere  accidents  of  individual  life.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  natural  or  original  appetites  have 
their  source  in  the  intrinsic  wants  of  our  animal  consti- 
tution, and  are  therefore  common  to  all  men.  The 
most  obtrusive  of  these  in  daily  consciousness  are  those 
most  closely  connected  with  the  struggle  for  individual 
existence,  hunger  and  thirst.  But,  in  addition  to  these, 
the  sexual  organic  cravings,  the  craving  for  sleep,  the 
cravings  for  activity  and  rest,  and  perhaps  some  other 
bodily  desires  of  a  more  obscure  character,  are  also  to 
be  included  among  natural  appetites.  These  earliest 
and  simplest  forms  of  desire  remain  throughout  life  the 
types  of  all  the  more  complex  longings  of  the  mind.  In 
common  language  the  terms  hunger  and  thirst,  in  par- 
ticular, are  extensively  applied  to  describe  even  the  high- 
est aspirations  of  life. 

For  it  scarcely  needs  observing,  that  cravings  may 
have  their  origin  not  merely  in  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  sense.  Even  if  the  impulsive  power  of  a  sensation 
depended  wholly  on  its  power  of  giving  pleasure  or  pain, 
yet  this  latter  power  is  not  confined  to  feeling  at  the  stage 
of  mere  sensation ;  it  belongs  equally  to  the  stage  of 
pure  emotion.  The  impulsive  action  of  feeling,  how- 
ever, even  at  this  higher  stage,  does  not  constitute  voli- 
tion. Numberless  actions  in  the  daily  life  of  all  men 
are  the  thoughtless,  involuntary  promptings  of  emotion. 
A  sudden  ecstasy  of  joy,  an  unexpected  excess  of  sorrow, 
a  flash  of  hope  or  despair,  an  overwhelming  panic,  a 
furious  outburst  of  anger,  —  such  emotions  will  diffuse 
themselves  irresistibly  over  various  muscular  regions, 

31 


482  PSYCHOLOGY 

and  determine  all  sorts  of  aimless  actions.  But  a  voli- 
tion is  not  aimless  or  thoughtless;  it  implies  a  thought 
of  the  end  to  be  attained  by  the  action.  How  is  this 
developed  ? 

A  volition,  we  have  seen,  is  not  merely  an  action 
unreflectively  prompted,  suggested  by  a  previous  asso- 
ciation with  some  pleasure  it  produces.  It  implies  a 
consciousness  of  this  association,  a  conscious  comparison 
of  action  and  pleasure  with  a  cognition  of  their  relation 
as  means  and  end.  It  is  only  when  we  thus  reflect  on 
the  end  to  be  attained  by  an  action  that  the  action 
becomes  voluntary.  This  fact  is  apt  to  be  lost  sight  of, 
as  it  is  obscured  by  an  ambiguity  in  the  use  of  the  word 
motive.  This  term  is  sometimes  employed  to  denote 
an  impulse  of  sensibility  by  w^hich  we  are  moved  to  act 
without  reflection ;  and  such  action  implies  no  intelligent 
control.  If  motive  is  used  in  its  strictest  sense,  this 
is  the  meaning  in  which  it  must  be  understood.  But 
it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  term  is  not  always 
thus  restricted.  In  a  higher  application  it  is  identified 
with  what  is  more  distinctively  named  intention^  purpose, 
aim;  that  is  to  say,  a  motive,  in  this  sense,  is  an  object 
set  before  consciousness  as  the  end  to  be  reached  by  the 
performance  of  an  action.  It  is  only  actions  directed 
by  this  higher  sort  of  motives  that  are  voluntary.  A 
volition  is  an  act  of  an  intelligent  being  acting 
intelligently. 

It  thus  appears  not  only  that  impulses  to  action  pro- 
ceed from  brain  and  nerve  without  entering  into  con- 
sciousness at  all,  but  that  within  the  sphere  of  conscious 
life  itself  similar  impulses  may  come  from  simple  sen- 
sations or  from  complex  emotions  and  ideas.     In  fact, 


GENERAL    NATURE    OF    VOLITION     483 

as  Professor  James  puts  it,  ^^  consciousness  is  in  its  very 
nature  impulsive."  ^  The  question  of  motives  to  action 
might  therefore  be  left  in  this  form.  Any  mental  state 
may  be  a  motive  more  or  less  powerful.  But  this  con- 
clusion comes  into  conflict  with  a  doctrine  which  has  not 
only  been  often  implicitly  assumed  in  the  sciences  that 
concern  human  nature,  but  has  found  many  an  explicit 
defence,  especially  among  Empiricists  in  psychology  and 
in  ethics.  The  doctrine  limits  human  motives  to  a  par- 
ticular class  or  a  particular  aspect  of  feelings.  It  main- 
tains that  man  is  never  moved  to  act  except  by  the  desire 
to  obtain  pleasure  or  to  avoid  pain.  This  is  kno^vn  as 
the  Egoistic  or  the  Hedonistic  Theory  of  Motives. 

The  theory  has  not  unnaturally  proved  attractive  to 
many  minds.  Scarcely  any  multiplicity  or  complexity 
in  nature  can  appear  so  intractable  to  science  as  the 
subtle  and  elusive  play  of  motives  in  human  life.  But 
here  in  this  theory  the  perplexing  phenomena  are  re- 
duced to  a  singularly  welcome  and  intelligible  simplicity. 
In  the  last  analysis  it  would  appear  that  every  motive 
inducing  men  to  act  is  but  some  form  of  the  attractive- 
ness of  pleasure  on  the  one  hand  or  the  repulsiveness  of 
pain  on  the  other.  Sometimes  the  theory  has  been  forti- 
fied by  an  analogy  drawn  between  the  two  worlds  of 
mind  and  matter,  each  being  conceived  as  equally  gov- 
erned by  two  forces,  described  sometimes  in  physical 
terms  as  attraction  and  repulsion,  sometimes  in  psychical 
terms  as  sympathy  and  antipathy. 

In  the  light  of  biological  science  this  theory  has 
obviously  a  vague  but  important  truth.     Any  theory  of 

*  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  526,  with  explanations  In  the 
pages  following. 


484  PSYCHOLOGY 

pleasure  and  pain  must  recognise  the  fact  that  pleasure 
is  in  general  a  concomitant  of  activities  that  tend  to  life 
and  health,  pain  of  activities  with  a  contrary  tendency. 
Hence  the  activities  that  make  up  the  general  sura  of  life 
must  be  predominatingly  pleasant ;  otherwise  they  would 
be  activities  that  tend  to  the  destruction  of  life,  —  a 
supposition  which  involves  an  obvious  contradiction. 
The  question,  therefore,  is  not  whether  action  must  be 
for  the  most  part  accompanied  with  the  attainment  of 
pleasure  or  the  avoidance  of  pain,  but  whether  the  desire 
to  attain  pleasure  or  avoid  pain  is  the  sole  motive  by 
which  action  can  be  stimulated. 

This  question  may  be  considered  in  reference  to  both 
meanings  of  the  term  motive.  Firstly,  then,  as  an  un- 
reflecting impulse,  can  it  be  said  that  every  motive  must 
be  either  an  attraction  of  pleasure  or  a  revulsion  from 
pain  ?  There  is  certainly  no  evidence  for  believing  that 
such  is  the  case.  An  unreflecting  impulse,  like  any 
other  mental  state,  gives  rise  to  pleasure  under  the  con- 
ditions explained  in  an  earlier  chapter;  but  all  expe- 
rience goes  to  prove  that  such  impulses,  like  other  mental 
states,  are  ever  ready  to  transgress  the  conditions  which 
are  essential  to  pleasure.  Take,  for  example,  the  case 
of  a  man  carried  away  by  an  impulse  of  angry  passion. 
Is  it  the  pleasantness  of  his  violent  behaviour  that 
causes  him  to  storm  away  in  wild  language  and  gesture  ? 
Or  is  it  not  clear  that  his  passionate  impulse  tears  a  path 
for  itself  through  tracts  of  nerve  and  muscle  without 
regard  to  the  painful  injury  it  works  at  the  time  or  the 
painful  remorse  it  may  bring  in  its  train  ? 

But  a  higher  interest  —  an  ethical  as  well  as  a  psy- 
chological —  attaches  to  this  question  in  light  of  the 


GENERAL    JSTATURE    OF    VOLITION    485 

other  meaning  of  motive.  Then  the  question  comes  to 
be,  whether  man  can  act  with  any  other  end  in  view 
than  that  of  enjoying  some  pleasure  or  avoiding  some 
pain.  Here,  of  course,  the  purely  ethical  aspects  of  the 
question  do  not  concern  us.  Our  inquiry  refers  wholly 
to  psychical  fact.  Now  we  have  seen  that  every  kind 
of  psychical  state  has  a  certain  impulsive  power,  is 
capable  of  giving  an  impulse  to  action,  as  it  is  capablo 
of  giving  knowledge,  or  capable  of  giving  pleasure  or 
pain.  It  is  quite  true  that  our  psychical  states  in  gen- 
eral are  accompanied  by  pleasure  or  pain;  but  their 
impulsive  power  is  not  derived  from  the  conception  of 
this  accompaniment.  Any  conception  whatever  —  the 
conception,  for  example,  of  a  duty  to  be  done  —  has 
an  impulsive  power  in  itself,  apart  altogether  from  the 
conception  of  any  pleasure  to  be  gained  or  any  pain  to 
be  escaped  by  yielding  to  it.  The  conception  of  a  duty 
to  be  done  may  indeed  find  its  impulsive  action  facili- 
tated by  such  a  prospect,  or  obstructed  by  the  prospect 
of  pleasure  to  be  sacrificed  or  of  pain  to  be  endured.  But 
as  it  is  not  wholly  dependent  on  the  one  prospect,  it  is 
not  necessarily  arrested  by  the  other.  The  conception 
of  duty  need  only  possess  sufficient  intensity  and  it  will 
bear  down  all  hedonistic  obstruction,  will  force  its  way 
through  toil  and  hardship  and  death  itself  rather  than 
be  baffled  in  its  realisation.^ 

*  It  has  heea  already  observed  that  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill's  scientific  can- 
dour sometimes  leads  him,  while  maintaining  Empiricism  In  form,  to 
abandon  It  In  substance.  An  additional  illustration  of  this  is  furnished 
by  his  attitude  towards  the  problem  of  motives.  While  apparently 
holding  that  the  mind  Is  naturally  egoistic,  he  contends  that  It  can 
be  trained  Into  a  habit  of  genuine  self-sacrifice,  so  that  **  a  motive 
does  not  mean  always,  or  solely,  the  anticipation  of  a  pleasure  or  of 
a  pain"  (Logic,  VI.,  2,  4).  James  gives  a  singularly  forcible  critique 
of  the  hedonistic  theory  (Principles  of  Paychologi/, \ol.  II.,  pp.  549-559). 


CHAPTEE   11. 

THE    MOTIVE    POWER    OF    THE    FEELINGS. 

FROM  the  previous  chapter  it  appears  that,  in  order 
to  volition,  there  must  be  a  representation  of  the 
end  to  be  attained.  We  have  thus  a  test  of  the  voli- 
tional quality  of  different  feelings;  and  it  is  found  to 
be  identical  with  that  quality  on  which  the  intellectual 
and  emotional  life  also  depends,  —  that  combination  of 
associability  and  comparability  which  has  been  briefly 
described  before  as  distinct  representability.  It  is  true 
that  in  the  mental  picture  of  ends  it  is  often  not  so  much 
the  future  feelings  themselves  that  are  represented,  but 
rather  the  external  circumstances  in  which  these  are 
exjiected.  ]^or  is  it  difficult  to  understand  why  this 
should  be  the  case,  ^ot  only  are  external  circumstances, 
implying  usually  visual  images,  capable  of  being  repre- 
sented with  greater  vividness  than  pleasures  and  pains ; 
but  it  is  by  picturing  in  imagination  the  external  stim- 
ulants of  our  pleasures  and  pains  that  these  are  realised 
in  anticipation.  Still,  in  order  to  endow  our  feelings 
with  volitional  power,  they  must  be  represented  to  the 
mind ;  and  therefore  this  power  of  our  feelings  demands 
some  consideration  here. 

To  understand  this  power  in  all  its  bearings,  the  feel- 
ings must  be  viewed  both  on  their  sensible  side  —  that 
is,  as  sources  of  pleasure  and  pain  —  and  on  their  in- 
tellectual side,  —  that  is,  as  sources  of  knowledge. 


MOTIVE    POWER    OF    FEELINGS       487 

I.  In  the  former  aspect  they  possess  two  somewhat 
contrasted  properties,   intensity  and  durability. 

1.  The  intensity  of  a  feeling,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
is  the  degree  in  which  it  absorbs  the  consciousness. 
Now  the  intensity  of  a  feeling  may  be  said  to  be  the 
measure  of  its  motive  power  while  it  lasts.  This  law 
implies  two  facts,  —  (a)  that  the  power  of  a  feeling 
to  move  us  is  naturally  in  proportion  to  its  intensity, 
but  (b)  only  while  it  lasts. 

(a)  The  former  statement  is  evidenced  by  the  manner 
in  which  our  moral  judgment  is  modified  by  finding  that 
an  action  has  or  has  not  been  done  under  the  influence 
of  intense  feeling.  This  modification  is  observed  not 
only  in  the  judgments  of  individuals  and  particular 
social  circles;  it  has  influenced  even  civilised  jurispru- 
dence. Though  law  properly  concerns  itself  only  with 
external  acts,  it  has  become  common  in  modern  legisla- 
tion to  mitigate  the  punishment  of  crimes  perpetrated 
under  powerful  temptations,  such  as  a  theft  of  bread  to 
escape  starvation,  or  a  homicide  prompted  by  a  sudden 
overpowering  passion. 

(h)  But  this  statement  is  subject  to  the  important 
qualification  that  the  intensity  of  a  passion  measures  its 
motive  power  only  while  it  lasts.  After  it  has  died 
away,  it  can  be  of  influence  as  a  motive  only  by  being 
represented ;  and  therefore  its  motive  power  depends 
then  on  its  distinct  representability.  Indeed,  as  soon  as 
reflection  has  had  time  to  w^ork,  passion  begins  to  wane ; 
and  in  general,  therefore,  it  may  be  said  that  our  feel- 
ings are  powerful  stimulants  of  action  in  proportion  to 
their  intensity  only  while  they  operate  as  unreflecting 
motives.     As  motives  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  term, 


488  PSYCHOLOGY 

as  objects  of  intelligent  purpose,  they  imply  the  power 
of  being  distinctly  represented.  "  Purpose  is  but  the 
slave  to  memory,"  it  is  said  in  Hamlet.^ 

2.  But  before  proceeding  to  this  intellectual  quality 
of  the  feelings  there  is  another  quality  which  they  pos- 
sess in  their  sensible  aspect  demanding  consideration. 
The  durability  of  a  feeling  is  its  capacity  of  continuing 
in  consciousness  without  relief.  The  relation  of  dura- 
bility to  intensity  may  be  sufficiently  expressed  by  saying 
that  the  two  are  in  an  inverse  proportion  to  each  other,  if 
this  mathematical  formula  is  understood  not  to  imply 
the  exact  measurements  of  quantity  which  are  character- 
istic of  mathematical  science. 

This  relation  has  impressed  itself  deeply  on  the  com- 
mon consciousness  of  men,  and  impressed  itself  as  a  fact 
of  supreme  importance  in  its  bearing  on  the  sum  of 
human  happiness.  Por,  as  already  explained  in  con- 
nection with  the  theory  of  pleasure  and  pain,  excessive 
or  prolonged  intensity,  passing  the  limit  of  healthy 
action,  destroys  sensibility;  so  that  a  period  is  soon  put 
to  the  duration  of  intense  feelings.  ^'  The  breath  of 
flowers,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  is  far  sweeter  in  the  air, 
where  it  comes  and  goes  like  the  warbling  of  music, 
than  in  the  hand."  ^  And  the  principle  here  implied 
holds  good,  not  only  of  odours,  but  of  all  kinds  of  feeling. 
The  pleasures  which  contribute  most  to  our  general 
welfare  are  those  which  come  and  go,  or  are  of  calmer 
tone  and  enjoyed  in  moderation.  Fortunately,  persist- 
ent intensity  destroys  sensibility  to  pain  as  well  as 
pleasure.  The  worst  agonies,  therefore,  as  the  brutal 
malice  of  the  savage  and  the  refined  malice  of  the  in- 

»  Act  III.,  Scene  2.  2  Essay  Of  Gardens. 


MOTIVE    POWER    OF    FEELIXGS       489 

quisitor  equally  know,  are  those  pains  which  die  away 
and  return  upon  us  afresh;^  or  they  are  those  calm 
griefs  which  settle  down  into  a  calm  despair.  ^^  Dolor 
in  longinquitate  levis,  in  gravitate  brevis  solet  esse;  ut 
ejus  magnitudinem  celeritas,  diuturnitatem  allevatio  con- 
soletur."  ^  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  refuse  to  trust 
in  the  continuance  of  intense  feelings :  we  prefer  a  sober 
friendship  to  any  '^  gushing "  affection ;  and  we  look 
with  certainty  to  the  early  decay  of  all  ecstasies,  sensual, 
intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  alike. 

"  His  rash  fierce  blaze  of  riot  cannot  last, 
For  violent  fires  soon  burn  out  themselves."  ' 

There  is  a  wise  psychology  in  the  old  proverb,  "  Love 
me  little  and  love  me  long."  Even  in  the  loftiest  senti- 
ment an  excess  of  fervour,  equally  with  any  excess  in 
mere  sensation,  is  apt  to  abolish  consciousness. 

"  In  such  high  hour 
Of  visitation  from  the  living  God 
Thought  v^as  not;  in  enjoyment  it  expired." 

But  the  lesson  impressed  on  the  mind  by  the  relation 
of  durability  to  intensity  of  feeling  is  affected  by  an 
important  qualification.  We  have  already  seen  that 
variety  is  an  essential  condition  of  consciousness  in  gen- 
eral, of  pleasurable  consciousness  in  particular.  Xoth- 
ing  neutralises  all  kinds  of  enjoyment  more  completely 
than  monotony.  An  uniform  calm,  therefore,  even  of 
enjoyment,    tends   to    degenerate    into    insipidity.     To 

*  There  Is  a  psychological  Interest  in  the  provision  which  Milton 
finds  in  hell  to  avoid  the  numblnfr  effect  of  persistent  sameness  in 
suffering.     See  Paradise  Lost,  II.,  nj>G-r>14. 

'  Cicero,  De  Finibti.t,  I.,  12. 

'  Richard  the  Second,  Act  II.,  Scene  1.  Compare  the  passage  from 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  quoted  above,  p.  388. 


490  PSYCHOLOGY 

avoid  this  result  it  is  usual  to  vary  the  even  tenor  of 
the  emotional  life  by  occasional  seasons  of  heightened 
enjoyment.  Thougli  plain  food  forms  the  staple  grati- 
fication of  life,  there  is  a  need  for  feasts  at  times ;  and 
this  forms  the  reason  of  banquets,  holidays,  hightides. 
For  one  moment  of  intense  enjoyment  may  in  many 
instances  be  infinitely  preferable  to  a  feeble  prolongation 
of  the  same  feeling. 

"  Come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight."  ^ 

It  would  appear  also  as  if  in  the  anguish  of  a  second 
might  be  summed  up  the  misery  of  years.  In  the  history 
of  some  kinds  of  suffering  man  is  not  without  occasional 
experience  of  a  moment  of  unspeakable  horror,  regarding 
which  it  may  be  truly  said  that 

"  In  that  instant  o'er  his  soul 
Winters  of  memory  seemed  to  roll, 
And  gather  in  that  drop  of  time 
A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime."  ^ 

This  fact,  however,  bears  upon  the  feelings  considered 
not  merely  as  sources  of  pleasure  and  pain,  but  also  as 
impulses  to  action.  There  is  a  tide  in  the  emotions  of 
men  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  high  achieve- 
ments. Enthusiasm  —  that  is,  an  unusual  intensity  of 
elevating  sentiment  —  is  necessary  to  raise  men  above 
a  humdrum  existence.  And  therefore,  for  the  sake  of 
energetic  activity,  men  dare  to  risk  the  emotional  storms 
that  are  apt  to  arise  out  of  inspiring  enthusiasms  rather 
than  be  content  with  the  dull  ease  of  a  placid  career. 

*  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  II.,  Scene  6. 
'  Byron's  Qiaour, 


MOTIVE    POWER    OF    FEELINGS      491 

"  Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife, 
To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name."  ^ 

For  the  same  reason  man  finds  more  interest  in  a  brief 
period  of  the  great  historical  nations  with  all  their  stir 
and  strife  than  can  ever  be  felt  in  the  uneventful  rec- 
ords of  those  peoples  that  have  left  no  impress  on  the 
development  of  humanity. 

<'  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay !  " 

Accordingly,  to  render  possible  a  more  exalted  course  of 
action  men  adopt  various  means  for  cultivating  to  higher 
intensity  the  sentiments  by  which  such  a  course  is 
inspired.  This  is  the  happy  effect  that  we  seek  in  the 
companionship  of  sympathetic  minds;  and  the  great 
religious  teachers  of  all  ages  are  never  weary  of  pro- 
claiming that  acts  of  religion  have  no  significance  or 
value  except  in  cherishing  the  state  of  feeling  which 
gives  a  nobler  tone  to  life.  Of  course,  there  is  a  danger 
that  the  passionate  susceptibility  which  leads  to  splendid 
deeds  may  be  misdirected  to  meaner  ends.  Still,  without 
its  enthusiasms  life  would  scarce  be  worth  living.  To 
the  general  life  of  man  they  impart  the  charm  of 
romance,  and  in  the  moral  life  particularly  they  are 
indispensable  to  heroic  virtue.  We  can  therefore  under- 
stand why,  in  the  more  earnest  movements  of  religious 
history,  moderation  has  often  been  stigmatised,  not 
indeed  as  implying  positive  vice,  but  as  tending  to  cool 
the  ardour  of  sentiment  necessary  to  reach  the  ideal  at 
which  these  movements  aim. 

»  Scott,  Old  Mortalitv,  Chap.  XXXVIII. 


492  PSYCHOLOGY 

II.  But  it  is  not  on  their  sensible  side  that  the  feel- 
ings are  of  chief  interest  in  the  development  of  the 
mental  life.  We  have  already  seen  that  cognition  and 
emotion  owe  their  complicated  developments  to  the 
intellectual  qualities  —  the  associability  and  compara- 
bility —  of  our  sensations ;  and  it  is  in  virtue  of  these 
qualities,  which  have  been  summarily  described  as  form- 
ing distinct  representability,  that  the  feelings  contribute 
to  the  development  of  volition.  Considered  merely  as 
sensible  phenomena,  the  feelings  may  form  unreflective 
impulses  to  action ;  but  it  is  only  by  being  distinctly  rep- 
resentable  that  they  can  form  intelligent  ends.  This 
aspect  of  the  feelings,  therefore,  alters  altogether  the 
estimate  of  their  motive  power  which  we  should  form 
from  their  sensible  qualities.  It  values  a  feeling  not 
only  while  it  lasts,  but  when  it  is  afterwards  revived  in 
memory  or  imagination  to  form  an  object  of  intelligent 
reflection.  It  appears  that  the  distinct  representability 
of  feelings  may  be  generally  described  as  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  their  durability,  and  therefore  in  inverse 
proportion  to  their  intensity.  From  this  it  follows  that 
the  calmer  feelings  are  not  only,  on  the  one  hand,  more 
durable,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  more  distinctly  revivable 
in  idea.  Both  of  these  facts  are  of  great  practical 
import. 

1.  We  may  well  at  times  be  struck  with  awe  at  the 
fact  that  feelings  which  for  the  moment  overpower  by 
their  intensity  all  other  impulses  cannot  be  afterwards 
represented  with  any  vividness.  The  reason  of  this  fact 
has  been  already  pointed  out  in  the  general  principle 
that  a  feeling,  even  if  naturally  pleasurable,  passes  by 
its  excess  the  limit  of  health,  and  becomes  destructive. 


MOTIVE    POWER    OF    FEELIXGS       493 

The  fact  finds  its  illustration  in  all  departments  of  our 
emotional  life.  There  are  many  sensations,  like  those 
of  sickness,  which  absolutely  control  our  conduct  while 
we  are  under  their  power,  yet  leave  but  the  faintest  traces 
in  imagination  and  memory.  Perhaps,  however,  the 
most  startling  instance  of  the  fact  under  consideration 
is  to  be  found  in  the  rapid  access  of  repentance  after 
excess,  after  the  inordinate  indulgence  of  any  passion. 
Owing  to  the  inverse  ratio  between  the  intensity  and  the 
durability  of  our  feelings,  the  power  of  the  criminal 
impulse  collapses  with  appalling  suddenness ;  and  in  con- 
sequence of  the  inverse  ratio  of  intensity  to  representa- 
bility,  being  unable  to  quicken  the  dead  passion  into 
the  after-life  of  memory,  the  guilty  wretch  stands 
aghast  at  his  conduct,  and  cannot  now  realise  what  ever 
induced  him  to  act  as  he  has  done.  The  famous  scene 
with  which  the  second  act  of  Macbeth  opens  will  long 
retain  its  terrible  charm  over  the  mind  from  the  truth- 
fulness with  which  it  pictures  this  dread  revulsion  of 
feeling.  It  may  be  observed  that  a  more  pleasing  illus- 
tration of  the  same  revulsion  is  found  in  an  emotional 
state  resembling  the  nature  of  shame,  that  sometimes  fol- 
lows upon  actions  done  under  the  influence  of  a  high 
enthusiasm. 

2.  But  the  counterpart  of  this  fact  is  also  familiar  in 
human  life.  The  sources  from  which  we  draw  the 
materials  for  happy  reflection  and  for  pleasing  con- 
structions of  the  fancy  in  after  years  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
the  violent  excitements  of  our  sensibility,  but  those  feel- 
ings which  are  of  a  calm  nature  and  which  also  endure 
commonly  for  a  long  time.  It  is  therefore  a  familiar 
experience,  which  has  been  already  referred  to  in  an- 


494  PSYCHOLOGY 

other  connection,  that  the  past  seems  generally  more 
pleasing  in  retrospect  than  when  it  was  actually  present. 
The  reason  of  this  was  found  in  the  very  nature  of 
pleasure  and  pain.  As  pleasures  arise  from  the  normal 
healthy  activities  of  life,  they  are  naturally  revivable 
with  comparative  ease,  w^hile  painful  activities,  being 
abnormal  and  injurious,  cannot  be  easily  reinstated. 
This  law  has  been  noticed  of  old.  "  Est  autem  situm 
in  nobis,"  says  Cicero,  "  ut  et  adversa  quasi  perpetua 
oblivione  obruamus,  et  secunda  jucunde  et  suaviter  me- 
minerimus.''  -^  In  one  of  the  great  poems  of  modern 
literature,  dealing  with  the  memories  of  a  young  and 
noble  friendship,  the  law  forms  a  dominant  tone,  while 
it  finds  exquisite  expression  in  the  query, 

"  And  is  it  that  the  haze  of  grief 

Makes  former  gladness  loom  so  great, 
The  lov/ness  of  the  present  state 
That  sets  the  past  in  this  relief  ? 

*'  Or  that  the  past  will  always  win 
A  glory  from  its  being  far, 
And  orb  into  the  perfect  star 
We  saw  not  when  we  moved  therein  ?  "  ^ 

'All  men  are,  in  fact,  subject  to  the  glamour  which 
memory  throws  over  ^'  auld  lang  syne ;  "  all  tend  to 
become  at  times  ^'  laudatores  temporis  acti."  Probably 
every  individual  has  often  allowed  his  fancy  to  be  be- 
witched by  the  illusion  of  "  the  good  old  times ;  "  and 
every  race  of  men  seems  to  have  dissipated  its  primitive 
historical  ideas  in  the  elusive  quest  of  a  golden  age. 
The  same  psychical  tendency,  it  may  be  added,  governs 

*  De  Finibus,  I.,  17.  *  In  Metnoriam,  24. 


MOTIVE    POWER    OF    FEELIXGS       495 

our  pictures  of  the  future.     There,  too,  pleasure  pre- 
dominates over  pain,  so  that 

"  Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast." 

But  the  superior  revivability  of  pleasure  is  most 
striking  when  it  is  brought  into  contrast  with  pain. 
Here,  again,  moral  life  furnishes  a  tragic  illustration. 
For  it  is  a  frequent  theme  of  astonishment,  as  well  as 
of  remorse  and  indignation,  that  men  exhibit  the  seduc- 
tive recollection  of  pleasant  vices  along  with  a  feeble 
regard,  if  not  a  complete  disregard,  for  their  painful 
consequences.  Psychology  therefore  suggests  a  serious 
question  to  the  science  of  education,  whether  the  method 
of  discipline  by  threat  of  pains  is  not  in  general  a 
violence  done  to  psychological  truth.  The  inefficiency 
of  a  great  deal  of  such  discipline  in  the  training  of 
childhood,  of  punitive  measures  in  the  reform  of  crim- 
inals, is  only  too  obvious;  and  probably  those  educa- 
tionists are  justified  who  maintain  that  the  prospect  of 
reward  must  be,  from  the  nature  of  the  mind,  far  more 
effective  for  the  stimulus  of  steady  effort  than  any  dread 
of  pain.^ 

This  law,  however,  is  of  interest,  not  only  as  point- 
ing to  the  perennial  sources  of  human  happiness;  it 
points  equally  to  the  kind  of  feelings  which  must  form 
the  objects  of  intelligent  volition.  The  man  whose  con- 
duct is  dictated  by  the  most  intense  passion  of  the  mo- 
ment leads  a  life  that  is  destitute  of  any  determinate 

*  Marshall  mentions  the  case  of  a  patient  in  a  New  York  hospital 
who  feigned  Illness  and  underwent  a  painful  operation  three  times 
after  the  first  in  order  to  enjoy  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  t)eing 
nursed  (Pain,  Plca/^urc,  and  yEsthrtics.  p.  54).  At  p.  34  there  arc 
some  intcrestin';^  remarks  on  the  fear  of  death.  It  has  often  hecn  ob- 
served that  this  motive  has  yielded  to  every  other  In  human  life. 


496  PSYCHOLOGY 

character.  To  attain  consistency  of  character  the  life 
must  be  guided  by  an  ideal  plan ;  and  an  ideal  plan  of 
life  supposes,  not  merely  the  impulses  that  proceed  from 
the  variable  moods  of  the  sensibility,  but  motives  that 
can  be  retained  permanently  in  idea.  Such  motives, 
however,  can  be  found  only  in  connection  with  feelings 
that   are   distinctly   represent  able. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    EXTENSION    OF   VOLUNTARY   CONTROL   OVER 
MUSCLES,    FEELINGS^    AND    THOUGHTS. 

THE  most  obvious  and  therefore  the  most  intelli- 
gible sphere  of  volition  is  muscular  activity. 
The  nature  of  the  volitional  control  of  muscle  has 
been  partially  explained  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this 
Part.  It  was  there  shown  that  muscular  activity  is  first 
stimulated  by  spontaneous  or  reflex  or  sensational  im- 
pulses. The  muscular  activity  originated  in  any  of 
these  ways  excites  pleasure  or  pain;  and  the  pleasant 
or  painful  feeling  excited  becomes  accordingly  asso- 
ciated in  consciousness  with  the  activity  which  is  its 
cause.  When  the  feeling  is  afterwards  represented,  it 
recalls  the  cause;  and  we  are  accordingly  moved  to  re- 
produce the  cause  in  order  to  the  reproduction  of  the 
effect. 

But  to  guard  against  mistake,  and  prepare  the  way  for 
further  developments  of  volition,  it  is  necessary  to  con- 
sider the  nature  of  the  feelings  connected  with  the 
activity  of  the  muscles.  Muscular  sensation  is  merely 
a  peculiar  mode  of  feeling,  which,  though  distinguished 
in  quality  from  other  feelings,  is  not  a  consciousness  of 
the  muscles  by  whose  action  it  is  excited.  Apart  from 
anatomical  study,  muscular  sensation  can  no  more 
reveal  the  structure,  or  even  the  existence,  of  muscles 

82 


498  PSYCHOLOGY 

than  a  sound  can  tell  the  form  of  the  cochlea,  or  a 
colour  can  reveal  the  rods  and  cones  of  the  retina.  The 
volition,  therefore,  which  issues  in  muscular  contraction 
is  not  directed  consciously  towards  the  muscles  con- 
tracted. I  will,  for  example,  to  write  certain  characters 
on  the  paper  before  me  with  the  pen  which  I  hold  in  my 
hand.  I  am  unable,  without  consulting  an  anatomical 
work,  to  tell  precisely  what  muscles  must  be  called  into 
play  in  guiding  the  pen.  But  I  have  written  the  same 
characters  a  countless  number  of  times  before.  After 
scores  of  somewhat  unsuccessful  efforts  in  school-days  I 
have  hit  upon  the  precise  muscular  contraction  required. 
That  precise  contraction  is  the  source  of  an  equally 
definite  muscular  sensation;  and  it  is  through  this  sen- 
sation alone  that  the  required  contraction  becomes  asso- 
ciated with  the  facts  of  my  conscious  life,  and  comes 
within  the  sphere  of  conscious  volition.  Accordingly, 
when  a  familiar  act  is  represented  as  an  object  of  voli- 
tion, I  am  able,  through  the  muscular  sensibility,  to  hit 
upon  the  muscular  contraction  necessary  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  act.  If  the  act  is  still  unfamiliar,  —  if 
it  is  one  the  performance  of  which  still  requires  to  be 
made  into  a  habit  or  dexterity,  —  it  is  through  the  mus- 
cular sensibility  that  the  acquisition  is  directed.  From 
general  use  of  the  muscles  I  must  of  course  be  acquainted 
roughly  with  the  limits  within  which  the  required  mus- 
cular exertion  lies.  I  can  therefore  hit  more  or  less 
nearly  on  the  precise  contractions.  It  is  here  that  the 
vast  differences  appear  between  individuals  in  regard  to 
the  sensibility  and  pliability  of  muscle.  Some  show  a 
quick  expertness  that  seems  to  want  no  tuition  in  finding 
the  exact  stroke  of  muscle  demanded.     For  such  nature 


VOLUNTARY    CONTROL  499 

has  formed  a  basis  for  proceeding  at  once  to  those  higher 
refinements  by  which  they  may  excel  all  ordinary 
teachers  and  attain  the  achievements  of  genius.  Others, 
again,  less  favoured  by  nature,  never  succeed,  even  after 
laborious  repetitions,  in  overcoming  the  clumsy  awk- 
wardness of  learners. 

It  is  important,  then,  to  bear  in  mind  that  even  in 
voluntary  control  of  the  muscles  volition  is  directed 
immediately,  not  to  the  muscles  themselves,  but  to  the 
sensations  excited  by  muscular  action.  In  passing, 
tlierefore,  to  voluntary  control  of  the  feelings,  there  is 
not  such  a  wide  gap  in  the  evolution  of  will  as  might  at 
first  be  supposed.  In  controlling  the  muscles  themselves 
the  consciousness  is  directed  to  a  certain  mode  of 
feeling,  —  a  mode  of  feeling,  indeed,  connected  with  the 
muscular  mechanism  by  which  we  modify  the  external 
world,  but  a  mode  of  feeling  all  the  same.  Consequently 
the  transition  in  this  expansion  of  voluntary  power  is, 
in  strictness,  not  so  much  from  control  of  muscle  to 
control  of  feeling  as  from  controlling  one  mode  of  feeling 
to  the  control  of  another. 

In  fact,  there  is  in  many,  if  not  in  most,  of  the 
voluntary  acts  which  control  the  feelings  a  close  affinity 
with  those  which  control  muscular  movement.  We  have 
seen,  in  the  Introduction  to  the  previous  Part  of  this 
Book,  that  the  feelings  are  in  many  instances  associated 
with  specific  muscular  movements  as  their  expression. 
This  association,  it  was  further  observed,  is  so  close  as 
to  constitute  a  certain  dependence  of  the  feelings  on 
their  expression,  so  that  by  producing  an  expressive 
movement  the  associated  feeling  may  be  in  some 
measure  reinstated.     The  dependence  indicated  in  this 


500  PSYCHOLOGY 

fact  is,  however,  manifested  in  other  ways.  The  expres- 
sion of  an  emotion  is  connected  with  the  emotion  by 
some  natural  law  or  laws,  in  whatever  manner  the 
connection  may  have  originated;  and  consequently  the 
tendency  of  an  emotion  when  unresisted  is  to  find  vent 
in  its  natural  expression.  But  this  tendency  may  be 
resisted,  at  least  in  those  cases  in  which  expression  is 
connected  w4th  the  voluntary  muscles.  We  cannot 
indeed  arrest  the  relaxation  of  the  intestinal  muscles 
often  brought  on  by  violent  fear;  we  cannot  check  the 
quickened  beat  of  the  heart  which  emotional  excitement 
generally  produces,  or  restore  the  interrupted  rhythm  of 
the  circulation  which,  under  the  influence  of  various 
feelings,  makes  the  colour  come  and  go  on  the  face. 
But  the  laugh  and  the  frown,  the  start  of  surprise,  and 
the  numerous  gestures  which  form  the  familiar  expres- 
sions of  feeling,  —  these  are  all  under  conscious  control. 
Now  the  repression  of  these  movements  necessarily  inter- 
feres with  the  natural  play,  and  deadens  the  vivacity, 
of  emotion. 

In  fact,  the  play  of  emotion  —  its  indulgence  —  con- 
sists in  the  influence  which  it  exercises  over  the  conduct 
of  life ;  and  this  influence  is  exhibited,  not  only  in  the 
general  human  expressions  of  emotion,  but  also  in  par- 
ticular acts  in  which  emotion  may  be  indulged  at  any 
moment.  The  real  control  of  emotion  consists  in  the 
repression  of  all  its  overt  manifestations.  The  emotional 
life  feeds  upon  its  overt  indulgences,  and  without  them 
cannot  be  sustained.  Such  indulgences  are  often  private, 
like  the  secret  fondling  of  objects  associated  with  any 
affection  or  retired  acts  of  devotion.  There  is  nothing 
more  frequently  enjoined  in  treatises  on  practical  reli- 


VOLUNTAKY    CONTROL  501 

gion  than  the  necessity  of  such  private  acts  for  the  culti- 
vation of  religious  feeling.  This  injunction  of  religious 
ttachers  is  based  on  an  universal  principle  with  regard  to 
the  culture  of  the  emotions,  —  the  principle  that  any 
emotional  excitement  may  be  controlled  by  keeping  in 
check  its  active  manifestations,  and  that  emotions  may  be 
starved  out  of  existence  by  being  habitually  refused  the 
indulgence  they  crave  in  directing  external  conduct. 

To  what  extent  such  emotional  repression  should  be 
carried,  is  a  problem  of  ethics ;  and  the  great  divisions 
of  ethical  speculation  might  be  described  as  separating 
on  the  problem.  For  while  an  extreme  Epicureanism 
seeks  the  chief  good  of  humanity  in  some  form  of 
emotional  excitement,  and  while  an  extreme  Stoicism, 
finding  in  such  excitement  the  source  of  all  evil,  enjoins 
the  cultivation  of  an  emotional  apathy,  more  moderate 
ethical  theories  hold  up  the  ideal  of  a  life  in  which 
rational  conduct  is  w^armed  and  beautified  by  rational 
feeling.  This  is  not  the  place  to  dwell  on  these  theories 
further  than  to  point  out  that  amid  all  their  differences 
they  agree  in  recognising  the  psychological  fact  that  the 
emotions  can  be  voluntarily  allowed  to  determine,  or 
prevented  from  determining,  the  character  of  any  human 
life. 

It  is  this  check  upon  their  external  manifestations  that 
is  commonly  understood  by  the  control  of  the  feelings  in 
our  daily  life.  But  it  remains  a  question  whether  such 
an  account  exhausts  all  that  can  be  said  of  this  control. 
It  may  be  true  that  feeling  is,  not  only  in  general,  but 
always,  bound  up  with  some  muscular  manifestation; 
yet  it  is  a  very  simple  task  of  abstraction  to  separate  in 
thought  the  feeling  from  its  expression.    It  is  quite  con- 


502  PSYCHOLOGY 

ceivable,  therefore,  that  though  the  feelings  are  usually 
repressed  by  restraining  their  outward  manifestations, 
yet  it  is  possible  to  direct  conscious  volition  to  the  feel- 
ings themselves  without  reference  to  their  manifestations. 
Whether  this  is  actually  the  case  or  not,  is  a  question 
which  brings  us  to  the  ultimate  problem  of  the  will.  In 
the  discussion  of  this  problem  it  will  be  found  that  some 
psychologists  refuse  to  recognise  any  sphere  of  voluntary 
control  beyond  the  muscular  system;  and  to  such  the 
utmost  that  can  be  meant  by  volition  is  the  conscious 
anticipation  of  a  muscular  movement  that  is  about  to  be 
felt  by  us.  Whether  this  is  a  complete  account  of  the 
limits  of  the  will,  must  be  discussed  in  the  sequel.  Mean- 
while, as  preparatory  to  that  discussion,  it  is  important 
to  notice  another  extension  of  voluntary  control. 

As  there  is  a  certain  control  exercised  over  the  feel- 
ings, so  we  can  also,  in  a  certain  sense,  control  the 
thoughts.  The  explanation  of  this  act  has  been  prepared 
in  discussing  the  Secondary  Laws  of  Suggestion  ^  and  the 
nature  of  attention.^  It  was  then  shown  that,  while  the 
phenomena  before  consciousness  at  any  moment  are  mul- 
tifarious, the  consciousness  is  unequally  distributed  over 
them.  While  the  majority  of  these  phenomena  attract 
comparatively  little  notice,  on  some,  perhaps  only  on 
one,  the  consciousness  may  be  concentrated  either  by  an 
involuntary  impulse  of  feeling  or  by  voluntary  effort. 
This  concentration  of  consciousness  controls  our 
thoughts,  not  only  for  the  moment,  but  also  for  the 
moments  immediately  following.  For  it  makes  the 
thoughts   on   which   the   consciousness   is   concentrated 

»  Book  I.,  Part  II.,  Chap.  I..  §  2. 
2  Book  II.,  Part  I.,  Chap.  II.,  §  1. 


VOLUNTARY    COKTROL  503 

more  powerfully  suggestive  than  the  rest,  and  conse- 
quently determines  the  line  in  which  the  current  of 
thought  will  flow.  It  is  this  straining,  this  attention  of 
the  mind,  that  renders  possible  voluntary  recollection, 
study,  consecutive  thinking.  Let  us  look  at  the  nature 
of  the  act  more  closely. 

In  some  instances,  at  least,  the  act  obviously  resem- 
bles that  of  controlling  the  feelings  by  restraint  of  their 
outward  manifestations.  When  the  object  of  thought  is 
a  body  actually  present  to  sense,  then  attention  to  it  in- 
volves some  muscular  act,  —  the  fixing  of  the  eyes,  the 
breathless  listening,  the  manipulation  of  a  surface,  the 
sniff  of  effluvia,  or  some  similar  action.  Even  when 
the  object  is  one  of  abstract  thought,  the  concentration 
of  consciousness  upon  it  implies,  as  already  explained,^ 
such  a  tension  of  our  limited  powers  as  to  arrest  activity 
in  other  directions.  Unless  a  voluntary  restraint  is 
exercised  over  the  restless  muscular  movement  by  which 
bodily  life  is  in  health  usually  characterised,  the  con- 
sciousness would  be  so  distracted  by  the  innumerable 
changing  phenomena  brought  within  its  ken  that  atten- 
tion would  be  impossible.  The  enforced  quiet  of  the 
muscular  organism  produces  a  state  of  monotony  in  re- 
gard to  outward  impressions,  and  deadens  thereby  their 
power  of  stimulation.  But  this  quiet  is,  of  course,  en- 
forced by  the  voluntary  control  of  the  muscles;  and  it 
cannot  therefore  be  doubted  that  attention,  at  least  in 
its  more  definite  forms,  frequently  —  it  may  be  usually 
or  even  always  —  implies  muscular  restraint.  But  here, 
as  in  regard  to  the  voluntary  control  of  the  feelings,  the 
question  arises,  whether   in  recognising  this  muscular 

»  Book  II.,  Part  I.,  Chap.  II..  §  1. 


504  PSYCHOLOGY 

restraint  we  have  disclosed  the  whole  nature  of  the 
volitions  which  direct  the  course  of  our  thoughts. 
This  question  cannot  be  properly  discussed  except  by 
entering  upon  the  problem  reserved  for  the  concluding 
chapter. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

FREEDOM    OF    VOLITION. 

THE  problem  of  this  chapter  is  essentially  identical 
with  those  ultimate  problems  regarding  the  gen- 
eral nature  of  knowledge  which  were  discussed  in  the 
sixth  chapter  of  the  first  Part  of  this  Book,  and  there- 
fore little  remains  to  be  done  but  to  explain  the  bearing 
upon  this  problem  of  the  principles  involved  in  the  pre- 
vious discussion. 

At  the  outset  it  may  be  worth  while  to  recall  the 
definition  of  voluntary  action  in  the  first  chapter  of  this 
Part.  It  was  there  shown  that  many  so-called  actions 
are  due  to  unreflecting  impulses,  and  that  the  term 
motive  is  very  often  used  for  impulses  of  this  kind.  On 
the  other  hand,  this  term  is  also  frequently  applied  to  the 
conscious  purpose,  the  end  which  we  have  in  view  when 
we  act.  It  is  only  actions  of  the  latter  class  that  are 
voluntary.  A  volition  is  therefore  an  act  of  a  person 
who  knows  what  he  is  doing,  and  who,  in  knowing  what 
he  does,  knows  the  end  which  his  action  is  adapted  to 
attain.  Now  it  is  not  maintained  that  human  actions 
are  generally  of  this  voluntary  sort.  On  the  contrary,  it 
may  be  admitted  that  the  majority  of  actions  —  all  the 
actions  which  make  up  the  routine  of  daily  life  —  are 
of  the  mechanical  type,  even  though  they  may  be  the 
result  of  habits  voluntarily  formed,  and  may  therefore 


506  PSYCHOLOGY 

continue  subject  to  voluntary  restraint.  Man  is  encir- 
cled by  the  systems  of  natural  law,  limited  by  them  in  his 
original  constitution,  rewarded  or  punished  by  them  in 
his  repeated  actions.  So  far  his  activity  is  like  any  other 
natural  product;  but  the  question  remains,  w^hether  it 
does  not  essentially  imply  something  more. 

The  question,  then,  in  reference  to  the  freedom  of 
volition  is  confined  to  those  acts  which  alone  are  en- 
titled to  be  called  volitions,  —  those  in  which  the  agent 
consciously  seeks  to  reach  a  certain  end.  Accordingly 
it  leaves  out  of  account,  and  we  may  throw  aside  as  a 
meaningless  fiction,  that  sort  of  freedom  which  has  been 
called  the  "  liberty  of  indifference,''  —  that  is,  a  power 
to  act  free  from  the  influence  of  any  motive  whatever. 
Whether  such  a  freedom  can  be  claimed  for  man  or  not, 
it  is  not  worth  claiming;  for  a  motiveless  act  cannot  be 
an  intelligent  act,  since  it  implies  no  intelligence  of  the 
end  which  the  act  is  designed  to  accomplish.  On  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  then,  as  thus  defined,  there  are  two 
theories,  or  sets  of  theories. 

I.  One  holds  that,  whatever  distinction  may  be  drawn 
between  the  actions  to  w^hich  the  term  volition  is  re- 
stricted, and  those  that  are  done  unreflectingly,  there 
is  no  difference  in  so  far  as  the  law  of  causality  is  con- 
cerned. According  to  this  law,  every  phenomenon  is 
absolutely  determined  by  some  antecedent  phenomenon 
or  phenomena;  and  consequently  every  action  of  man 
receives  its  definite  character  from  the  immediately 
antecedent  circumstances  in  which  it  was  done,  it  being 
understood  that  antecedent  circumstances  comprehend 
the  condition  of  the  agent  himself  as  well  as  the  con- 
dition of  his  environment.     The  manifold  agencies  in 


FEEEDOM    OF    VOLITION  507 

the  physical  world  excite  their  multitudinous  tremors  in 
the  nervous  system;  these  are  followed  by  appropriate 
states  of  consciousness,  —  feelings,  cognitions,  desires; 
and  the  phenomena  which  we  call  volitions  are  merely 
further  links  in  this  chain.  Every  volition  therefore, 
on  this  theory,  is  regarded  simply  as  an  event  in  time, 
wholly  determined,  like  any  other  event,  by  events 
preceding. 

This  has  been  commonly  called,  in  former  times,  the 
theory  of  Necessity,  and  its  supporters  Necessitarians. 
Recent  advocates  of  the  theory,  however,  generally 
object  to  the  term  Necessity,  as  implying  compulsion 
without  consent,  whereas  the  theory  regards  the  consent 
of  the  agent  as  one  of  the  conditions  of  a  voluntary 
action.  On  this  account  Determinism  has  been  sug- 
gested, and  is  now  generally  adopted,  as  an  appropriate 
designation  of  the  theory. 

Though  a  certain  form  of  Determinism  has  often  been 
maintained  by  theologians  of  the  Augustinian  and  Cal- 
vinistic  schools,  yet  the  doctrine  tends  at  the  present  day 
to  ally  itself  with  that  general  theory  of  man's  origin 
which  regards  him  as,  in  mind  and  body  alike,  merely 
the  last  evolution  of  organic  nature  on  our  planet.  Ac- 
cording to  this  view  man's  consciousness  is  simply  the 
product  of  the  forces  in  his  environment  acting  on  his 
complicated  sensibility,  and  of  that  sensibility  reacting 
on  the  environment.  His  consciousness  therefore  stands 
related  to  other  phenomena  precisely  as  these  are  related 
to  each  other,  each  being  acted  upon  by  the  rest  and  re- 
acting upon  them,  so  that  all  are  absolutely  determined 
by  this  reciprocity  of  action.  On  this  view  man's  self  is 
not  a  real  unity,  forming  by  its  unifying  power,  out  of 


508  PSYCHOLOGY 

an  unintelligible  multiplicity  of  sensations,  an  intelligi- 
ble cosmos ;  it  is  a  mere  name  for  a  factitious  aggregate 
of  associated  mental  states.  The  only  actual  self  is  the 
sum  of  feelings  of  which  we  are  conscious  at  any  mo- 
ment; and  the  actual  self  therefore  differs  with  the 
variation  of  our  feelings.  Such  a  self  evidently  offers 
no  intelligible  source  of  any  activity  that  is  not  abso- 
lutely determined  by  natural  causation. 

II.  The  opposite  theory,  maintaining  that  volition 
is  in  its  essential  character  free  from  the  determinations 
of  natural  law,  is  spoken  of  as  the  doctrine  of  Liberty, 
or  of  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.  Its  supporters  are  some- 
times called  Libertarians.  This  doctrine  contends,  in 
one  form  or  another,  that  there  is  an  essential  difference 
between  human  volitions  and  other  events,  and  that 
their  character  is  not  to  be  interpreted,  like  that  of  other 
events,  solely  by  referring  to  the  antecedent  circum- 
stances in  which  they  were  done.  This  theory  tends  to 
ally  itself  at  the  present  day  with  that  Transcendental 
Idealism  which  refuses  to  accept  Empirical  Evolution- 
ism as  a  complete  solution  of  the  problem  of  man's 
nature. 

The  doctrine  of  Liberty  insists  on  the  essential  dis- 
tinction between  the  reality,  the  unity,  of  the  self  and 
that  of  objects.  The  notselves  that  make  up  the  ob- 
jective world  have  no  real  point  of  unity,  no  selfhood; 
so  that  from  themselves  nothing  can  originate.  But 
the  self  is  a  real  self,  a  real  centre  of  unity,  from  which 
radiate  all  the  unifying  functions  of  intelligence  that 
form  into  intelligible  order  the  world  of  sense.  The 
self  therefore  stands  related  to  the  notselves  of  the 
objective  world,  not  simply  as  these  are  related  to  each 


FKEEDOM    OF    VOLITION  600 

other ;  it  is  contradistinguished  from  the  whole  of  thcni 
in  a  way  in  which  each  is  not  contradistinguished  from 
the  others,  as  the  intelligent  interpreter  without  which 
they  could  form  no  intelligible  system.  This  system  is 
formed  of  parts  which  are  construed  as  holding  relations 
of  reciprocal  causality ;  but  the  intelligence  that  con- 
strues the  system  is  not  simply  one  of  the  parts  whose 
action  is  absolutely  determined  by  the  action  of  the 
rest. 

As  we  have  seen  in  the  previous  discussion  on  self- 
consciousness,  it  is  this  distinction  of  self  from  the  whole 
universe  of  notselves  that  alone  renders  intelligible  the 
cognition  of  that  universe.  It  is  also  the  independence 
of  self  on  the  universe  of  notselves  that  alone  renders 
intelligible  its  voluntary  action  on  that  universe.  For  a 
volition  is  not  an  act  to  which  I  am  impelled  by  the 
forces  of  external  nature  beating  upon  my  sensitive 
nature;  it  is  an  act  in  w^hich  I  consciously  set  before 
myself  an  end,  and  determine  myself  towards  its  attain- 
ment. The  very  nature  of  volition,  therefore,  would  be 
contradicted  by  a  description  of  it  in  terms  which 
brought  it  under  the  category  of  causality. 

This  freedom  of  the  self  from  determination  by  the 
world  of  objects  is  the  fact  which  alone  explains,  with- 
out explaining  away,  the  consciousness  that  there  is 
within  us  a  centre  of  intelligent  activity  which  is,  in 
the  last  resort,  impregnable  by  any  assaults  of  mere 
force.  You  may  apply  to  my  organism  superior  forces 
of  organic  or  inorganic  bodies,  and  compel  it  to  act  as 
you  wish.  You  may  employ  all  the  sensible  inducements 
at  your  disposal  in  order  to  bend  me  to  your  purpose; 
you  may  tempt  me  with  the  most  bewitching  delights  of 


510  PSYCHOLOGY 

sense,  or  scare  me  with  its  most  frightful  agonies.  Yoii 
may  even,  by  ingenuity  of  torture,  so  shatter  my  nervous 
systcjn  as  to  prevent  me  from  carrying  out  into  the  world 
of  sense  the  deliberate  resolutions  of  myself.  But  there 
is  one  thing  which  mere  force  —  force  separated  from 
reason  —  cannot  do ;    it  cannot  compel  me. 


INDEX 


WHERE   MERELY   A    WORD   IS   EXPLAINED  OR   DEFINED,   ITALICS    ARE   USED. 


Abercrombie,   214,    303,   304, 

311,  315,  317,  318,  327. 
Affection,  437. 
Afferent  nerves,  22. 
Age,  14. 
Aii^chylos,  387. 
Alimentary  Sensations,  40,  44, 

76. 
Allen,  Grant,  65,  66,  151,  274, 

375. 
Ambidexterity,  49. 
Amnesia,  105. 
Anaesthesia,  300. 
Analysis,  225-227. 
Analgesia,  300,  373. 
Anaxagoras,  48. 
Anthropology,  16. 
Antinomies,  366-369. 
Antipathy,  445-451. 
Anytus,  458. 
Apparition,  296. 
Appearance,  367. 
Appetite,  480. 
Apprehension,  simple,  253. 
A  priori  and  a  posteriori,  336. 
Aristotle,  30,  39,  247,  271,  374, 

375,  387. 
Architecture,  282. 
Arminianism,  120. 
Arts,  fine,  279-288. 
Articulate  sounds,  177-178. 
Artman  and  Ilall,  171. 


Associationism,  330. 

Astrology,  10-11. 

Attention,    217-229.      See    also 

99-101,  105-108. 
Augustinianism,  120,  507. 

Bacon,  Lord,  39,  397,  488. 

Bailey's  Festus,  392. 

Bain,  43,  103,  107,  162,  330,  342, 

343,   349,  356,  402,  468,  477, 

479. 
Bdp^apos,  180. 
Bayle,  7. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  164. 
Beauty,  278,  473. 
Bell,  Sir  Charles,  396. 
Berkeley,  165,  188. 
Biography,  9. 
Blacklock,  213. 
Blushing,  434. 
Boerhaave,  39. 
Boole,  26.S. 
Brace,  Julia,  154. 
Braid,  415. 
Bridgman,    Laura,    54,  55,  160 

161,  164,  178. 
Brown,  Dr.  Thomas,  464. 
Browning,  Mrs.,  209,  388. 
Browning,  Robert,  287. 
Burke,  Edmund,  408,  411. 
Burns,  151,  429. 
Butler,  Bishop,  445. 


512 


INDEX 


Byron,  Commodore,  456. 
Byron,  Lord,  76,  392,  462,  490. 

Calvinism,  120,  507. 
Campbell,  Thomas,  463. 
Carlyle,  48,  432. 
Carpenter,  Dr.,  16,  39, 164,  224, 

479. 
Centrifugal       and      centripetal 

nerves,   22. 
Cerebro-spinal  system,  21-23. 
Chalmers,  Dr.,  325. 
Chemistry,  Mental,  333-335. 
Cheselden's   patient,    186,   187, 

190,  214,  418,  419,  421. 
Chromaisthesia,  212. 
Cicero,  88,  427,  455,  489,  494. 
Claudius,  449. 
Coleridge,  313. 
Colloids,  38. 
Colour-blindness,  64. 
Coloured  audition,  212. 
Common  Sense,  136,  139,  337. 
Composition^  287. 
Conceit,  433. 
Concept,  240,  253-254. 
Conceptualism,  238-240. 
Consciousness,  2-4. 
Consonants,  177. 
Contractility,  73. 
Contrast,  95-96,  466. 
Cousin,  Victor,  11,  231. 
Cowper,  391. 
Cramming,  110-113. 
Crusades,  89. 
Crystalloids,  38. 
Cumberland,  S.  C.  163. 
Curiosity,  470. 
Cyrenaics,  374. 

Dallas,  313,  320,  375,  383. 
Danaids,  113,  312. 
Dante,  94. 


Darwin,    222,    330,    397,    434, 

'441. 
Dasein,  364. 
Davy,  Sir  H.,  162. 
Dead  strain,  74. 
Delacroix,  284. 
Demeter,  423. 
Democritus,  50. 
De  Morgan,  268. 
Descartes,  7. 
Determinism,  507. 
Dickens,  302. 
Diderot,  211. 
Dionysus,  423. 
Disaster,  11. 
Disposition,  15,  372. 
Double  hearing,  196. 
Double  touch,  167. 
Double  vision,  195-196. 
Drummond,  Agnes,  317. 
Dysaesthesia,  301. 
Dyspepsia,  406. 

Earle,  1. 
Ecclesiastes,  417. 
Edridge-Green,  64. 
Eery,  474. 
Efferent  nerves,  22. 
Egoism,  483-485. 
Electricity,  81-82. 
Emotion,  371. 
Empirical,  336. 
Empiricism,  330. 
Emulation,  469. 
Enthusiasm,  490. 
Envy,  457. 
Ennui,  391. 
Epicureans,  374,  427. 
^ETTixaipfKaKia,  459. 
Erdmann,  132. 
Euripides,  417. 
Evil  eye,  220. 
Evil  star,  11. 


INDEX 


513 


Experience,  336. 

Existence,  364. 

Extension  of  concepts  and  terms, 

254. 
Extensity,  25,  359-360. 

Fallacy,  296. 

Familiarity,  108,  465. 

Fatigue,  80,  386. 

Fear,  462. 

Fechner,  32. 

Ferguson,  Adam,  376,  458. 

Ferrier,  Dr.,  218. 

Ferrier,  Professor,  95. 

Figures  of  Speech,  92. 

Findlater,  349. 

Fixed  ideas,  109. 

Flaubert,  302. 

Flavour,  39. 

Fontenelle,  383. 

Franz's  patient,  47, 186, 187, 190, 

191,  201. 
Francis,  Saint,  of  Assisi,  443. 
Freigius,  1. 
Froebel,  283. 

Galen,  38. 

Galton,  13,   59,   102,   134,  212, 

237,  245,  301,  302. 
Geiger,  66. 
Genius,  15. 
Giants,  153. 
Gladstone,  66. 
Goethe,  48,   228,  282,  284,  392, 

431,  445. 
Goldsmith,  388. 
Gough,  47,  170. 
Gray,  394. 
Gregory,  311. 
Grey,  Earl,  301. 
Grimm,  153. 
Grote,  349. 


Habit,  14,  118-125. 

Hall,  Dr.  Stanley,  78. 

Halleck,  151,  157. 

Haller,  39,  153. 

Hallucination,  296. 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  1, 19,  39,  71, 
86,  114,  132,  133,  139,  166, 
225,  231,  240,  248,  265,  200, 
275,  278,  337,  367,  375,  377. 

Harmony,  182,  466. 

Hartley,  330. 

Hecker,  418. 

Hedonism,  483-485. 

Hegel,  136,  280,  310,  400. 

Helmholtz,  56,  67,  68,  178,  190, 
196,  203,  204,  298. 

Herbart,  86. 

Heredity,  12-13. 

Herodotus,  250. 

History,  9. 

Hobbes,  5,  261,  446,  450,  480. 

HoUand,  Sir  H.,  224. 

Holmes,  157,  315,  320. 

Home's  patient,  190. 

Homo  alalus,  246. 

Hope,  462. 

Horace,  120. 

Howe,  Dr.  154,  155,  161,  178, 
248. 

Humboldt,  153. 

Hume,  362,  363,  383. 

Huxley,  16,  240,  241,  302,  377. 

Hyperaesthesia,  299. 

Idea,  239,  240,  270. 
Ideal,  270. 
Idealism,  330. 
Ideo-motor  actions,  479. 
Ill-starred,  11. 
Illusion,  296. 
Imagination,  274-8. 
Imitation,  440. 
Indignation,  457. 


83 


5U 


INDEX 


Irmate,  337. 

Insipidity,  389-390. 

Instinct,  119-120. 

Intension,  254. 

Intensity,  24,  99,  105-108,  487. 

Intoxication,  81. 

Introspection,  6. 

Intuition f  335. 

Intuitionalism,  330. 

Ireland,  Dr.,  301. 

Itch,  52. 

Jackson,  284. 

James,  Professor,  71,  73,  98, 107, 
114,  119,  134,  200,  204,  207, 
223,  241,  327,  349,  360,  398, 
402,  408,  433,  483,  485. 

Jansenists,  120. 

Jastrow,  212,  321. 

Jealousy,  458. 

Jesuits,  120. 

Jevons,  268. 

Job,  431. 

Jodl,  21,  30,  47,  64,  71,  79,  212, 
375,  376,  402. 

Johnson,  Samuel,  89. 

Jovial,  11. 

Kant,  132,  367. 
Keats,  151,  280. 
Keller,  Helen,  178. 
Kitto,  47,  54,  154,  170, 171,  184, 
213. 

Ladd,  16. 

Lamson,  54,  55,  164,  178,  248. 
Langeiveile,  391. 
Language,  8. 
Lateau,  Louise,  443. 
Lecky,  326. 
Lefthandedness,  49. 
Leibnitio-Wolfian  School,  132. 
Leibnitz,  265. 


Lenau,  392. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  195,  397. 

Letourneau,  146. 

Levy,  47,  165. 

Lewes,  212. 

Leyden,  327. 

Libertarians,  508. 

Life-weariness,  392. 

Lindsay,  7. 

Linnseus,  39. 

Literature,  285-287. 

Lloyd's  Age  of  Pericles,  387. 

Local  Signs,  359. 

Locke,  211,  239,  257,  361,  362, 

363. 
Logic,  252. 

Aoyof,  247. 

Lotze,  86,  132,  168,  358,  359. 
Lubbock,  235,  456. 
Lunaticus,  10. 

Magnetism,  Animal,  321. 

Mahaffy,  191. 

Mansel,  367. 

Mark's  Gospel,  186. 

Marlowe,  392. 

Marshall,  375,  495. 

Massieu,  213. 

Massiveness,  25. 

Maudsley,  153,    155,  212,   302, 

303,  304. 
McCosh,  361.      , 
Mediumism,  341. 
Meier,  132. 
Melody,  181. 
Memory,  353,  B,nd  passim  under 

Association. 
Mendelssohn,  Moses,  132. 
Mesmer,  82,  321. 
Mill,  J.  S.,  107,  254,  255,  257, 

259,  264,  265,  330,  342,  343, 

346,  347,  348,  349,  354,  355, 

356,  375,  377,  485, 


INDEX 


615 


Mills,  Dr.  W.,  7,  220. 

Milton,  151,  156,  431,  434,435, 

480. 
Mind^  1. 

Misanthropy,  460. 
Mitchell,  James,  55,  154, 157. 
Mnemonics,  88. 
Modesty,  434. 
Monotony,  464. 
Montaigne,  222. 
Montesquieu,  11. 
Mood,  372. 

Moonstruck,  moonish,  moonling,  10. 
Morgan,  Lloyd,  7,  210. 
Motive,  482. 
Movement,   breadth,  form  and 

velocity  of,  24-25 ;  sensations 

of,  74. 
Moyes,  211. 
Miiller,  Maler,  392. 
Miiller,  Max,  231,  247. 
Miinsterberg,  32. 
Music,  180-184,  284,  415-416. 
Myers,  F.  W.  H.,307,  313,  315, 

327. 

Natural  History  of  Man,  9. 

Natural,  15. 

Nausea,  40. 

Necessary,  337. 

Negative    pleasure    and    pain, 

393-394. 
Neuralgia,  80. 
Newton,  91,  113. 
Nightmare,  312. 
Nominalism,  238-240. 
Normal  sciences,  252. 
Nunneley's    patient,    187,    190, 
.    191. 
Nussbauer,  the  brothers,  212. 

Object,  2. 
Odylism,  321. 


Oracles,  Pagan,  341. 
Organ,  Organism,  20. 
Original,  337. 
Overtones,  60-61,  181. 


Painting,  282. 

Paley,  118. 

Panic,  221. 

Paraesthesia,  301. 

Passion,  371. 

Pastimes,  391. 

Patrizzi,  231. 

Pearson,  162. 

Pelagianism,  120. 

Pereira,  7. 

Perez,  404. 

Personality,  alternating,  341. 

Personal  equation,  32-33. 

Philosopher,  2.50. 

Physiology,  15-16. 

Piers,  Plowman,  272. 

Plato,  38,  132,  239,  374. 

Plautus,  238. 

Pope,  495. 

Positive    pleasures    and  pains, 

393-394. 
Possession,  341. 
Possibility,  Power,  347. 
Presentation,  84. 
Preyer,  190,  417,  418. 
Primum  Cognitum,  231-237. 
Psalms,  432. 
Psychology,  origin  of  the  name, 

1 ;  distinguished   from   logic, 

252. 
Psychophysics,  27-33. 
Puiseaux,  Du,  213. 
Pulmonary  Sensations,  75  ;  see 

also  43. 
Pungent  sensations,  40-41,  45, 

52. 
Pure,  337. 


516 


li^DEX 


Quality  of  tones,  60,  180-181. 
Quintilian,  88, 

Race,  14. 

Ramists,  1. 

Realism  (mediaeval),  238. 

Realism  (modern),  330. 

Reality,  364. 

Reason,  337-338. 

Recept,  240. 

Recollection,  voluntary,  100-101. 

Refinement,  135. 

Regret,  463. 

Reichenbach,  Von,  82,  321. 

Reid,  19,  196,  315,  452. 

Relativity  of  Knowledge,  332. 

Relish,  40. 

Remorse,  434. 

Renan,  180,  228. 

Representation,  84. 

Resemblance,  93,  95,  466. 

Resentment,  447. 

Retaliation,  448. 

Retribution,  125. 

Revenge,  460. 

Ribot,  105,  218,  241. 

Ridiculous,  the,  467-469. 

Righthandedness,  49. 

Rogers,  463. 

Romanes,  7,  119,  179,  228,  235, 

240. 
Rorarius,  7. 
Rousseau,  135,  157. 

Sagacious,  155. 
Sapientia,  148. 
Satiety,  391. 
Saturnine,  11. 
Savour,  39. 
Schadenfreude,  459 
Schelling,  281. 
Schiller,  274. 


Scott,  384,  491. 
Scottish  School,  139,  337. 
Sculpture,  281. 
"^cXrjPiaKOS,  10. 

Sense  and  its  derivatives,  19-20, 

136. 
Sensationalism,  330. 
Sentiment,  sentimental,  371. 
Sex,  14. 
Shakespeare,  87,  88,  92,  94,  98, 

104,  149,  151,  156,  196,  221, 

222,  250,  281,  309,  311,  381, 

383,  385,  386,  388,  392,  430, 

488,  489,  490,  493. 
Shame,  434. 
Shamming  death,  220. 
Shelley,  385,  386. 
Simonides,  88. 
Sisyphus,  312. 
Socrates,  374,  458. 
Somnambulism,  317-318. 
2o(f)ia,  147. 
Spalding,  119,  210. 
Spectres,  296. 

Spectrum  or  after-image,  298. 
Spectrum  or  rainbow,  63-67. 
Spencer,  16,  48,  235,  261,  274, 

342,     350,     356,     367,     375, 

376. 
Spinoza,  303,  402,  426. 
Spirit  of  the  age,  13. 
Stereoscope,  194. 
Stewart,   D.,  55,   96,   114,   154, 

156,  160,  168,  318,  476. 
Stoics,  374. 
2ropyf),  454. 
Striking  likeness,  102. 
Study,  100. 

Subject,  1.  , 

Suetonius,  449. 
Sully,  52,  302,  350,  469. 
Sympathetic  system,  21 
Sympathy,  439-445. 


INDEX 


617 


Taine,  11,  302. 

Tantalus,  312. 

Tarantati,  418. 

Tedium,  391. 

Teiresias,  168. 

Temperament,  15,  372. 

Temperature,  sensations  of,  78. 

Tennyson,  44,  94,  107,  151,  203, 
250,  340,  392,  402,  413,  427, 
432,  434,  435,  463,  491,  494. 

Tetens,  132. 

Theophrastus,  39. 

Thinking  aloud,  247. 

Thomson,  Archbishop,  228,  257. 

Thomson,  James,  450. 

Thought,  127. 

Thought-reading,  163. 

Thukydides,  387. 

Tickling,  52. 

Tierra  del  Fuego,  441. 

Todd  and  Bowman,  164. 

Touched,  touching,  touchy,  410. 

Tracy,  190. 

Tragedy,  382-383. 

Trance,  341. 

Transcendental,  335. 

Travel,  250. 

Trench,  Archbishop,  448. 

Truth,  272. 

Tuke,  Dr.  H.,  224,  301,  443. 

Twins,  237. 

Tylor,  16,  235,  248,  456. 


Unconscious      cerebration 

124. 
Understanding,  338. 
Universal,  337. 


Vanity,  436. 
Vierordt,  47. 
Virgil,  94,  308,  323,  462. 
Volume,  of  sensation,  25. 
Vowels,  177. 


Wandering  Jew,  340. 

Ward,  360. 

Wardrope's  patient,  190,  418. 

Warner,  397. 

Ware's  patient,  190. 

Weber,  32,  46,  51,  165. 

Weird,  474. 

Weismann,  12. 

Welsch,  180. 

Werewolf,  341. 

Wheatstone,  195. 

Wholes,    different      kinds     of, 

277-278. 
Wilson,  Dr.  G.,  409. 
Wilson,  Sir  D.,  49. 
Wonder,  465. 
Wordsworth,  135,  278,  280,  281, 

392,429,441,  489. 
Wright,  Dr.  A.  E.,  419. 
Wundt,  7,  16,  67,   71,  86,  132, 

184,  207,   297,  302,  375,  379, 

397. 

Xenophon,  458. 

Young,  67. 

Zeitgeist,  13. 

Zeno,  the  Eleatic,  366. 


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